The order followed to demolish unceasingly all the churches of the said religion situated in the kingdom. It was forbidden to assemble for the exercise of the said religion, in any place, private house or tenement, under penalty of confiscation of body and goods. All ministers of the said religion who would not be converted were enjoined to leave the kingdom in a fortnight, and divers favors were granted to those who should be converted. Private schools for instruction of children in the said religion were interdicted. Children who should be born to those of the said religion should for the future be baptized by the parish curates, under penalty of a fine of five hundred livres, and still more, if there were occasion, to be paid by the parents, and the children should then be brought up in the Catholic religion. A delay of four months was granted to fugitive Reformers to leave the kingdom and recover possession of their property; this delay passed, the property should remain confiscated. It was forbidden anew to Reformers to leave the kingdom, under penalty of the galleys for men, and confiscation of body and goods for women. The declarations against backsliders were confirmed.

A last article, probably obtained by the representations of the Colberts, declared that the Reformers, "till it should please God to enlighten them like others, should be permitted to dwell in the kingdom, in strict loyalty to the King, to continue there their commerce and enjoy their goods, without being molested or hindered under pretext of the said religion."

The Edict of Revocation was sent in haste to the governors and intendants, without waiting for it to be registered, which took place in the Parliament of Paris, October 22d. The intendants were instructed not to allow the ministers who should abandon the country to dispose of their real estate, or to take with them their children above seven years of age: a monstrous dismemberment of the family wrought by an arbitrary will that recognized neither natural nor civil rights! The King recommended a milder course toward noblemen, merchants, and manufacturers; he did not desire that obstinacy should be shown "in compelling them to be converted immediately without exception" "by any considerable violence."

The tone of the ministerial instructions changed quickly on the reception of despatches announcing the effect of the edict in the provinces. This effect teaches us more in regard to the situation of the dragooned people than could the most sinister narratives. The edict which proscribed the Reformed worship, which interdicted the perpetuation of the Protestant religion by tearing from it infants at their birth, was received as a boon by Protestants who remained faithful to their belief. They saw, in the last article of the edict, the end of persecution, and, proud of having weathered the storm, they claimed the tolerance that the King promised them, and the removal of their executioners. The new converts, who, persuaded that the King desired to force all his subjects to profess his religion, had yielded through surprise, fear, want of constancy in suffering, or through a worthier motive, the desire of saving their families from the license of the soldiers, manifested their regret and their remorse, and were no longer willing to go to mass.

All the leaders of the dragonades, the Noailles, the Foucaults, the Basvilles, the Marillacs, complained bitterly of a measure that was useless to them as to the demolition of Protestant churches and the prohibition of worship, and very injurious as to the progress of conversions. They had counted on rooting out the worship by converting all the believers. The revocation of the Edict of Nantes sinned, therefore, in their eyes by excess of moderation! Louvois hastened to reassure them in this respect, and authorized them to act as if the last article of the edict did not exist. "His majesty," he said, "desires that the extremest rigors of the law should be felt by those who will not make themselves of his religion, and those who shall have the foolish glory of wishing to remain the last must be pushed to the last extremity." "Let the soldiers," he said elsewhere, "be allowed to live very licentiously!" (November, 1685).

The King, however, did not mean it thus, and claimed that persecution should be conducted with method and gravity. But men do not stop at pleasure in evil: one abyss draws on another. The way had been opened to brutal and cynical passions, to the spirit of denunciation, to low and mean fanaticism; the infamies with which the subaltern agents polluted themselves recoiled upon the chiefs who did not repress them, and on this proud government that did not blush to add to the odium of persecution the shame of faithlessness! The chiefs of the dragonades judged it necessary to restrain the bad converts by making example of the obstinate; hence arose an inundation of horrors in which we see, as Saint Simon says, "the orthodox imitating against heretics the acts of pagan tyrants against confessors and martyrs." Everything, in fact, was allowed the soldiers but rape and murder; and even this restriction was not always respected; besides, many of the unfortunate died or were maimed for life in consequence of the treatment to which they had been subjected; and the obscene tortures inflicted on women differed little from the last outrage, but in a perversity more refined.

All the diabolic inventions of the highwaymen of the Middle Ages to extort gold from their captives were renewed here and there to secure conversions: the feet of the victims were scorched, they were strappadoed, suspended by the feet; young mothers were tied to the bedposts, while their infants at the breast were writhing with hunger before their eyes. "From torture to abjuration, and from this to communion, there was often not twenty-four hours' distance, and their executioners were their guides and witnesses. Nearly all the bishops lent themselves to this sudden and impious practice." Among the Reformed whom nothing could shake, those who encouraged others to resistance by the influence of their character or social position were sent to the Bastille or other state prisons; some were entombed in subterranean dungeons—in those dark pits, stifling or deadly cold, invented by feudal barbarism. The remains of animals in a state of putrefaction were sometimes thrown in after them, to redouble the horror! The hospital of Valence and the tower of Constance at Aigues-Mortes have preserved, in Protestant martyrology, a frightful renown. The women usually showing themselves more steadfast than the men, the most obstinate were shut up in convents; infamous acts took place there; yet they were rare. It must be said to the honor of the sex, often too facile to the suggestions of fanaticism, that the nuns showed much more humanity and true religion than the priests and monks. Astonished to see Huguenot women so different from the idea they had formed of them, they almost became the protectors of victims that had been given them to torment.

The abduction of children put the final seal to the persecution. The Edict of Revocation had only declared that children subsequently born should be brought up in the Catholic religion. An edict of January, 1686, prescribed that children from five to sixteen years of age should be taken from their heretical relatives and put in the hands of Catholic relatives, or, if they had none, of Catholics designated by the judges! The crimes that we have just indicated might, in strictness, be attributed to the passions of subaltern agents; but this mighty outrage against the family and nature must be charged to the Government alone.

With the revocation, the dragonade was extended, two places partially excepted, over all France. When the great harvest had been sufficiently gathered in the South and West, the reapers were sent elsewhere. The battalions of converters marched from province to province till they reached the northern frontier, carrying everywhere the same terror. Metz, where the Protestants were numerous, was particularly the theatre of abominable excesses. Paris and Alsace were alone, to a certain extent, preserved. Louvois did not dare to show such spectacles to the society of Versailles and Paris; the King would not have endured it. The people of Paris demolished the Protestant church of Charenton, an object of their ancient animosity; the ruling power weighed heavily upon the eight or nine thousand Huguenots who remained in the capital, and constrained two-thirds of them, by intimidation, to a feigned conversion; but there were no striking acts of violence, except perhaps the banishment of thirty elders of the consistory to different parts of the kingdom, and the soldiers did not make their appearance. The lieutenant of police, La Reinie, took care to reassure the leading merchants, and the last article of the Edict of Revocation was very nearly observed in Paris and its environs. As to Lutheran Alsace, it had nothing in common with the system of the Edict of Nantes and the French Calvinists: the Treaty of Westphalia, the capitulation of Strasburg, all the acts that bound it to France, guaranteed to it a separate religious state. An attempt was indeed made to encroach upon Lutheranism by every means of influence and by a system of petty annoyances; but direct attacks were limited to a suppression of public worship in places where the population was two-thirds Catholic. The political events that soon disturbed Europe compelled the French Government to be circumspect toward the people of this recently conquered frontier.

The converters indemnified themselves at the expense of another frontier population, that was not dependent on France. The Vaudois, the first offspring of the Reformation, had always kept possession of the high Alpine valleys, on the confines of Piedmont and Dauphiny, in spite of the persecutions that they had repeatedly endured from the governments of France and Piedmont. The Piedmontese Vaudois had their Edict of Nantes; that is, liberty of worship in the three valleys of St. Martin, La Luzerne, and La Perouse. When the dragonade invaded Dauphiny, the Vaudois about Briancon and Pignerol took refuge in crowds with their brethren in the valleys subject to Piedmont. The French Government was unwilling to suffer them to remain in this asylum. The Duke Victor Amadeus II enjoined the refugees to quit his territory (November 4th). The order was imperfectly executed, and Louis XIV demanded more. The Duke, by an edict of February 1, 1686, prohibited the exercise of heretical worship, and ordered the schools to be closed under penalty of death. The barbes (ministers), schoolmasters, and French refugees were to leave the states of the Duke in a fortnight, under the same penalty. The Vaudois responded by taking up arms, without reflecting on the immense force of their oppressors. The three valleys were assailed at the same time by French and Piedmontese troops. The French were commanded by the governor of Casale, Catinat, a man of noble heart, an elevated and philosophic mind, who deplored his fatal mission, and attempted to negotiate with the insurgents, but Catinat could neither persuade to submission these men resolved to perish rather than renounce their faith, nor restrain the fury of his soldiers exasperated by the vigor of the resistance. The valleys of St. Martin and La Perouse were captured, and the victors committed frightful barbarities. Meanwhile the Piedmontese, after having induced the mountaineers, who guarded the entrance of the valley of La Luzerne, to lay down their arms, by false promises, slaughtered three thousand women, children, and old men at the Pre de la Tour! The remotest recesses of the Alps were searched; a multitude of unfortunates were exterminated singly: more than ten thousand were dragged as prisoners to the fortresses of Piedmont, where most of them died of want. A handful of the bravest succeeding in maintaining themselves among the rocks, where they could not be captured, and, protected by the intervention of Protestant powers, and especially of the Swiss, finally obtained liberty to emigrate, both for themselves and their coreligionists.

There has often been seen in history much greater bloodshed than that caused by the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, scenes of destruction planned more directly and on a vaster scale by governments, and sometimes the same contrast between an advanced state of civilization and acts of barbarity; but no spectacle wounds moral sense and humanity to the same degree as this persecution carried on coldly and according to abstract ideas, without the excuse of struggle and danger, without the ardent fever of battle and revolution. The very virtues of the persecutors are here but an additional monstrosity: doubtless, there is also seen, at a later period, among the authors of another reign of terror, this same contrast that astounds and troubles the conscience of posterity; but they, at least, staked each day their own lives against the lives of their adversaries, and, with their lives, the very existence of the country involved in their cause!

A million and a half of Frenchmen were in terror and despair; yet songs of victory resounded around Louis the Great. The aged Le Tellier lifted to heaven the hand that had just signed the Revocation, and parodied, on the occasion of an edict that recalls the times of Decius and Diocletian, the canticle by which Simeon hailed the birth of the Redeemer. He died a fanatic, after having lived a cold and astute politician (October 31, 1685); he died, and the most eloquent voices of the Gallican Church broke forth in triumphal hymns, as over the tomb of a victorious hero! "Let us publish this miracle of our days," exclaimed Bossuet, in that funeral oration of Le Tellier, wherein he nevertheless exhibited apprehensions of new combats and of a sombre future for the Church; "let us pour forth our hearts in praise of the piety of Louis; let us lift our acclamations to heaven, and let us say to this new Constantine, to this new Theodosius, to this new Marcianus, to this new Charlemagne: 'You have strengthened the faith, you have exterminated the heretics; this is the meritorious work of your reign, its peculiar characteristic. Through you heresy is no more: God alone could have wrought this wonder.'" The gentle Flechier himself echoed Bossuet, with the whole corps of the clergy with the great mass of the people. Paris and Versailles, that did not witness the horror of the details, that saw only the general prestige and the victory of unity, were deaf to the doleful reports that came from the provinces, and applauded the "new Constantine."

"This is the grandest and finest thing that ever was conceived and accomplished," wrote Madame de Sevigne. All the corporations, courts of justice, academies, universities, municipal bodies, vied with each other in every species of laudatory allusion; medals represented the King crowned by Religion "for having brought back to the Church two millions of Calvinists"; the number of victims was swollen in order to swell the glory of the persecutor. Statues were erected to the "destroyer of heresy." This concert of felicitations was prolonged for years; the influence of example, the habit of admiring, wrung eulogies even from minds that, it would seem, ought to have remained strangers to this fascination; every writer thought he must pay his tribute; even La Bruyere, that sagacious observer and excellent writer, whose acute and profound studies of manners appeared in 1687; and La Fontaine himself, the poet of free-thought and of universal freedom of action.

The Government redoubled its rigor. The penalty of death was decreed against ministers reentering the kingdom without permission, and the galleys against whomsoever should give them asylum; penalty of death against whomsoever should take part in a meeting (July 1, 1686). And this penalty was not simply a dead letter! Whenever the soldiers succeeded in surprising Protestants assembled for prayer in any solitary place, they first announced their presence by a volley; those who escaped the bullet and the sword were sent to the gallows or the galleys. Measures almost as severe were employed to arrest emigration. Seamen were forbidden to aid the Reformers to escape under penalty of a fine for the first offence, and of corporal punishment for a second offence (November 5, 1685). They went further: ere long, whoever aided the flight of emigrants became liable to the galleys for life, like emigrants themselves (May 7, 1686). Armed barks cruised along all the coasts; all the passes of the frontier were guarded; the peasants everywhere had orders to rush upon the fugitives. Some of the emigrants perished in attempting to force an exit; a host of others was brought back manacled; they dared not place them all under the galley-master's lash; they feared the effects of their despair and of their numbers, if they should mass them in the royal galleys; they crowded the prisons with those who were unwilling to purchase pardon by abjuration. The misfortunes of the first emigrants served to render their coreligionists, not more timid, but more adroit; a multitude of pilgrims, of mendicants dragging their children after them, of nomadic artisans of both sexes and of all trades, incessantly took their way toward all the frontiers; innumerable disguises thus protected the "flight of Israel out of Egypt." Reformers selected the darkest winter nights to embark, in frail open boats, on the Atlantic or stormy Channel; the waves were seen to cast upon the shores of England families long tossed by tempests and dying with cold and hunger.

By degrees, the guards stationed along the shores and the frontiers were touched or seduced, and became saviors and guides to fugitives whom they were set to arrest. Then perpetual confinement in the galleys was no longer sufficient against the accomplices of the desertes; for the galleys an edict substituted death; death, which fell not upon those guilty of the pretended crime of desertion, was promised to their abettors (October 12, 1687). Some were given up to capital punishment; many, nevertheless, continued their perilous assistance to emigrants, and few betrayed them. Those Reformers whom the authority wished most to retain in the kingdom, the noblemen, the rich citizens, manufacturers, and merchants, were those who escaped easiest, being best able to pay for the interested compassion of the guards. It is said that the fugitives carried out of France sixty millions in five years. However this may be, the loss of men was much more to be regretted than the loss of money. The vital energy of France did not cease for many years to ooze away through this ever-open ulcer of emigration.

It is difficult to estimate, even approximately, the number of Protestants who abandoned their country, become to them a barbarous mother. Vauban estimated it at a hundred thousand, from 1684 to 1691. Benoit, the Calvinist historian of the Edict of Nantes, who published his book in 1695, estimates it at two hundred thousand; the illustrious refugee Basnage speaks vaguely of three or four hundred thousand. Others give figures much more exaggerated, while the Duke of Burgundy, in the memoir that we have cited above, reduces the emigration to less than sixty-eight thousand souls in the course of twenty years; but the truly inconceivable illusions preserved by this young prince, concerning the moral and political results of the Revocation, do not allow us to put confidence in his testimony; he was deceived, took pleasure in being deceived, and closed his ear to whomsoever desired to undeceive him. The amount from two hundred thousand to two hundred fifty thousand, from the Revocation to the commencement of the following century, that is, to the revolt of Cevennes, seems most probable. But it is not so much by the quantity as by the quality of the emigrants that the real loss of France must be measured. France was incomparably more weakened than if two hundred thousand citizens had been taken at hazard from the Catholic mass of the nation. The Protestants were very superior, on the average, if not to the Catholic middle class of Paris and the principal centres of French civilization, at least to the mass of the people, and the emigrants were the best of the Protestants. A multitude of useful men, among them many superior men, left a frightful void in France, and went to swell the forces of Protestant nations. France declined both by what she lost and what her rivals gained. Before 1689 nine thousand sailors, the best in the kingdom, as Vauban says, twelve thousand soldiers, six hundred officers, had gone to foreign countries.

The most skilful chiefs and agents of contemporaneous industry went in multitudes to settle in foreign lands. Industrial capacities, less striking than literary capacities, inflicted losses on France still more felt and less reparable. France was rich enough in literary glory to lose much without being impoverished; such was not the case with respect to industry; France was to descend in a few years, almost in a few months, from that economical supremacy which had been conquered for her by long efforts of a protective administration; populous cities beheld the branches of commerce that constituted their prosperity rapidly sinking, by the disappearance of the principal industrial families, and these branches taking root on the other side of the frontiers. Thus fell, never to rise again, the Norman hat trade—already suffering on account of regulations that fettered the Canadian fur trade. Other branches, in great number, did not disappear entirely, but witnessed the rise of a formidable competition in foreign lands, where they had hitherto remained unknown; these were so many outlets closed, so many markets lost for our exportation, lately so flourishing. A suburb of London (Spitalfields) was peopled with our workmen in silk, emigrated from Lyons and Touraine, which lost three-fourths of their looms; the manufacture of French silk was also established in Holland, with paper-making, cloth manufacture, etc. Many branches of industry were transplanted to Brandenburg, and twenty thousand Frenchmen carried the most refined arts of civilization to the coarse population thinly scattered among the sands and firs of that sombre region. French refugees paid for the hospitality of the Elector Frederick by laying the foundation of the high destinies of Berlin, which on their arrival was still but a small city of twelve or fifteen thousand souls, and which, thenceforth, took a start which nothing was to arrest. Like the Hebrews after the fall of Jerusalem, the Huguenot exiles scattered themselves over the entire world: some went to Ireland, carrying the cultivation of flax and hemp; others, led by a nephew of Duquesne, founded a small colony at the Cape of Good Hope.

France was impoverished, not only in Frenchmen who exiled themselves, but in those, much more numerous, who remained in spite of themselves, discouraged, ruined, whether they openly resisted persecution or suffered some external observances of Catholicism to be wrung from them, all having neither energy in work nor security in life; it was really the activity of more than a million of men that France lost, and of the million that produced most.

The great enterprise, the miracle of the reign, therefore miscarried; the new temple that Louis had pretended to erect to unity fell to ruin as it rose from the ground, and left only an open chasm in place of its foundation. Everything that had been undertaken by the governing power of France for a century in the direction of national, civil, and territorial unity had gloriously succeeded; as soon as the governing power left this legitimate field of unity to invade the domain of conscience and of human individuality, it raised before itself insurmountable obstacles; it concerned itself in contests wherein it was equally fatal to conquer or be conquered, and gave the first blow to the greatness of France. What a contrast between the pretensions of Louis that he could neither be mistaken nor deceived, that he saw everything, that he accomplished everything, and the illusions with which he was surrounded in regard to the facility of success and the means employed! The nothingness of absolute power, and of government by one alone, was thus revealed under the reign of the "Great King!"



%THE ENGLISH REVOLUTION%

FLIGHT OF JAMES II

A.D. 1688

GILBERT BURNET

H.D. TRAILL

With the accession of William and Mary to the throne of England not only did the Stuart line come to an end, but the Protestant religion was finally established in the kingdom. By the Declaration of Right, upon which their title rested, it was decreed that after the death of William and Mary no person holding the Roman Catholic faith should ever be king or queen of England. Assumption of the throne by a Roman Catholic should release the people from their allegiance.

William III (William of Orange) was a nephew of James II. He had greatly distinguished himself as leader of the Dutch against the invasions of Louis XIV, when the English people, tired of the tyranny of James II, and also fearing that he might be succeeded by a Catholic, decided to choose a Protestant for their sovereign. William was married (1677) to Mary, eldest child of James II. Could they have been sure that she would succeed her father, the English people would gladly have had Mary for their sole ruler, though European interests demanded the elevation to larger power of the Prince of Orange as the great antagonist of Louis XIV. William was accordingly invited to take possession of the English throne conjointly with Mary. The Prince of Orange landed at Torbay, November 5, 1688.

This revolution, one of the least violent in all history, is best described by Bishop Burnet, who accompanied William of Orange from Holland to England, and in 1689 was made Bishop of Salisbury. He is not less eminent as the historian of his time than as a theologian and prelate of the English Church.

Having made his preparations for sailing, William was annoyed by many delays occasioned by the hesitation of his subordinates. Traill's account of the convention which William summoned for settlement of the crown, gives in a wholly modern way the particulars of the formal accession of William and Mary.

GILBERT BURNET

All this while the men-of-war were still riding at sea, it being a continued storm for some weeks. The Prince[1] sent out several advice-boats with orders to them to come in. But they could not come up to them. On October 27th there was for six hours together a most dreadful storm; so that there were few among us that did not conclude that the best part of the fleet, and by consequence that the whole design, were lost. Many that have passed for heroes yet showed then the agonies of fear in their looks and whole deportment. The Prince still retained his usual calmness, and the same tranquillity of spirit that I had observed in him in his happiest days. On the 28th it calmed a little, and our fleet came all in, to our great joy. The rudder of one third-rate was broken; and that was all the hurt that the storm had done. At last the much-longed-for east wind came. And so hard a thing it was to set so vast a body in motion that two days of this wind were lost before all could be quite ready.

[Footnote 1: William of Orange.]

On November 1 (O.S.), we sailed out with the evening tide, but made little way that night, that so our fleet might come out and move in order. We tried next day till noon if it were possible to sail northward, but the wind was so strong and full in the east that we could not move that way. About noon the signal was given to steer westward. This wind not only diverted us from that unhappy course, but it kept the English fleet in the river; so that it was not possible for them to come out, though they were come down as far as to the Gunfleet. By this means we had the sea open to us, with a fair wind and a safe navigation. On the 3d we passed between Dover and Calais, and before night came in sight of the Isle of Wight. The next day, being the day in which the Prince was both born and married, he fancied if he could land that day it would look auspicious to the army and animate the soldiers. But we all, who considered that the day following, being gunpowder-treason day, our landing that day might have a good effect on the minds of the English nation, were better pleased to see that we could land no sooner.

Torbay was thought the best place for our great fleet to lie in, and it was resolved to land the army where it could be best done near it; reckoning that being at such a distance from London we could provide ourselves with horses, and put everything in order before the King could march his army toward us, and that we should lie some time at Exeter for the refreshing of our men. I was in the ship, with the Prince's other domestics, that went in the van of the whole fleet. At noon on the 4th, Russel came on board us with the best of all the English pilots that they had brought over. He gave him the steering of the ship, and ordered him to be sure to sail so that next morning we should be short of Dartmouth; for it was intended that some of the ships should land there, and that the rest should sail into Torbay. The pilot thought he could not be mistaken in measuring our course, and believed that he certainly kept within orders, till the morning showed us we were past Torbay and Dartmouth. The wind, though it had abated much of its first violence, was yet still full in the east; so now it seemed necessary for us to sail on to Plymouth, which must have engaged us in a long and tedious campaign in winter through a very ill country.

Nor were we sure to be received at Plymouth. The Earl of Bath, who was governor, had sent by Russel a promise to the Prince to come and join him; yet it was not likely that he would be so forward as to receive us at our first coming. The delays he made afterward, pretending that he was managing the garrison, whereas he was indeed staying till he saw how the matter was likely to be decided, showed us how fatal it had proved, if we had been forced to sail on to Plymouth. But while Russel was in no small disorder, after he saw the pilot's error (upon which he bade me go to my prayers, for all was lost), and as he was ordering the boat to be cleared to go aboard the Prince, on a sudden, to all our wonder, it calmed a little. And then the wind turned into the south, and a soft and happy gale of wind carried in the whole fleet in four hours' time into Torbay. Immediately as many landed as conveniently could. As soon as the Prince and Marshal Schomberg got to shore, they were furnished with such horses as the village of Broxholme could afford, and rode up to view the grounds, which they found as convenient as could be imagined for the foot in that season. It was not a cold night; otherwise the soldiers, who had been kept warm aboard, might have suffered much by it.

As soon as I landed, I made what haste I could to the place where the Prince was; who took me heartily by the hand, and asked me if I would not now believe in predestination. I told him I would never forget that providence of God which had appeared so signally on this occasion.[1] He was cheerfuller than ordinary. Yet he returned soon to his usual gravity. The Prince sent for all the fishermen of the place and asked them which was the properest place for landing his horse, which all apprehended would be a tedious business and might hold some days. But next morning he was showed a place, a quarter of a mile below the village, where the ships could be brought very near the land, against a good shore, and the horses would not be put to swim above twenty yards. This proved to be so happy for our landing, though we came to it by mere accident, that if we had ordered the whole island round to be sounded we could not have found a properer place for it. There was a dead calm all that morning; and in three hours' time all our horse were landed, with as much baggage as was necessary till we got to Exeter. The artillery and heavy baggage were left aboard, and ordered to Topsham, the seaport to Exeter. All that belonged to us was so soon and so happily landed that by the next day at noon we were in full march, and marched four miles that night. We had from thence twenty miles to Exeter, and we resolved to make haste thither.

[Footnote 1: Light is thrown on this passage by the following curious account given in M'Cormick's Life of Carstares: "Mr. Carstares set out along with his highness in quality of his domestic chaplain, and went aboard of his own ship. It is well known that, upon their first setting out from the coast of Holland, the fleet was in imminent danger by a violent tempest, which obliged them to put back for a few days. Upon that occasion, the vessel which carried the Prince and his retinue narrowly escaped shipwreck, a circumstance which some who were around his person were disposed to interpret into a bad omen of their success. Among these, Dr. Burnet happening to observe that it seemed predestined that they should not set foot on English ground, the Prince said nothing; but, upon stepping ashore at Torbay, in the hearing of Mr. Carstares, he turned about to Dr. Burnet, and asked him what he thought of the doctrine of predestination now?" Cunningham, according to the translation of the Latin MS. of his History of England, says that "Dr. Burnet, who understood but little of military affairs, asked the Prince of Orange which way he intended to march, and when? and desired to be employed by him in whatever service he should think fit. The Prince only asked what he now thought of predestination? and advised, if he had a mind to be busy, to consult the canons." The Bishop omits mentioning the proximate cause of the Prince's question, and says nothing about his declining the offer of his services, which indeed it is not likely that he did, at least so uncivilly.]

But as we were now happily landed, and marching, we saw new and unthought-of characters of a favorable providence of God watching over us. We had no sooner got thus disengaged from our fleet than a new and great storm blew from the west; from which our fleet, being covered by the land, could receive no prejudice; but the King's fleet had got out as the wind calmed, and in pursuit of us was come as far as the Isle of Wight, when this contrary wind turned upon them. They tried what they could to pursue us; but they were so shattered by some days of this storm that they were forced to go into Portsmouth, and were no more fit for service that year. This was a greater happiness than we were then aware of: for Lord Dartmouth assured me some time after, that, whatever stories we had heard and believed, either of officers or seamen, he was confident they would all have fought very heartily. But now, by the immediate hand of Heaven, we were masters of the sea without a blow. I never found a disposition to superstition in my temper: I was rather inclined to be philosophical upon all occasions; yet I must confess that this strange ordering of the winds and seasons just to change as our affairs required it, could not but make a deep impression on me as well as on all that observed it. Those famous verses of Claudian seemed to be more applicable to the Prince than to him they were made on:

"Heaven's favorite, for whom the skies do fight, And all the winds conspire to guide thee right!"

The Prince made haste to Exeter, where he stayed ten days, both for refreshing his troops and for giving the country time to show its affection. Both the clergy and magistrates of Exeter were very fearful and very backward. The Bishop and the dean ran away. And the clergy stood off, though they were sent for and very gently spoken to by the Prince. The truth was, the doctrines of passive obedience and non-resistance had been carried so far and preached so much that clergymen either could not all on the sudden get out of that entanglement into which they had by long thinking and speaking all one way involved themselves, or they were ashamed to make so quick a turn. Yet care was taken to protect them and their houses everywhere, so that no sort of violence or rudeness was offered to any of them. The Prince gave me full authority to do this, and I took so particular a care of it that we heard of no complaints. The army was kept under such an exact discipline that everything was paid for where it was demanded, though the soldiers were contented with such moderate entertainment that the people generally asked but little for what they did eat. We stayed a week at Exeter before any of the gentlemen of the country about came in to the Prince. Every day some persons of condition came from other parts. The first were Lord Colchester, Mr. Wharton, the eldest sons of the Earl of Rivers, and Lord Wharton, Mr. Russel, Lord Russel's brother, and the Earl of Abingdon.

The King came down to Salisbury, and sent his troops twenty miles farther. Of these, three regiments of horse and dragoons were drawn on by their officers, Lord Cornbury and Colonel Langston, on design to come over to the Prince. Advice was sent to the Prince of this. But because these officers were not sure of their subalterns, the Prince ordered a body of his men to advance and assist them in case any resistance was made. They were within twenty miles of Exeter, and within two miles of the body that the Prince had sent to join them, when a whisper ran about among them that they were betrayed. Lord Cornbury had not the presence of mind that so critical a thing required. So they fell in confusion, and many rode back. Yet one regiment came over in a body, and with them about a hundred of the other two.

This gave us great courage, and showed us that we had not been deceived in what was told us of the inclinations of the King's army. Yet, on the other hand, those who studied to support the King's spirit by flatteries, told him that in this he saw that he might trust his army, since those who intended to carry over those regiments were forced to manage it with so much artifice, and dared not discover their design either to officers or soldiers, and that as soon as they perceived it the greater part of them had turned back. The King wanted support; for his spirits sunk extremely. His blood was in such fermentation that he was bleeding much at the nose, which returned oft upon him every day. He sent many spies over to us. They all took his money, and came and joined themselves to the Prince, none of them returning to him. So that he had no intelligence brought him of what the Prince was doing but what common reports brought him, which magnified our numbers and made him think we were coming near him while we were still at Exeter. He heard that the city of London was very unquiet.

News was brought him that the Earls of Devonshire and Danby, and Lord Lumley, were drawing great bodies together, and that both York and Newcastle had declared for the Prince. Lord Delamere had raised a regiment in Cheshire. And the body of the nation did everywhere discover their inclinations for the Prince so evidently that the King saw he had nothing to trust to but his army. And the ill-disposition among them was so apparent that he reckoned he could not depend on them. So that he lost both heart and head at once. But that which gave him the last and most confounding stroke was that Lord Churchill and the Duke of Grafton left him and came and joined the Prince at Axminster, twenty miles on that side of Exeter.

After this he could not know on whom he could depend. The Duke of Grafton was one of King Charles' sons by the Duchess of Cleveland. He had been some time at sea, and was a gallant but rough man. He had more spirit than anyone of that spurious race. He made answer to the King, about this time, that was much talked of. The King took notice of somewhat in his behavior that looked factious, and he said he was sure he could not pretend to act upon principles of conscience; for he had been so ill-bred that, as he knew little of religion, so he regarded it less. But he answered the King that, though he had little conscience, yet he was of a party that had conscience. Soon after that, Prince George, the Duke of Ormond, and Lord Drumlanerick, the Duke of Queensbury's eldest son, left him and came over to the Prince, and joined him when he was come as far as the Earl of Bristol's house at Sherburn.

When the news came to London the Princess was so struck with the apprehensions of the King's displeasure, and of the ill-effects that it might have, that she said to Lady Churchill that she could not bear the thoughts of it, and would leap out of window rather than venture on it. The Bishop of London was then lodged very secretly in Suffolk Street. So Lady Churchill, who knew where he was, went to him and concerted with him the method of the Princess' withdrawing from the court. The Princess went sooner to bed than ordinary. And about midnight she went down a back stairs from her closet, attended only by Lady Churchill,[1] in such haste that they carried nothing with them. They were waited for by the Bishop of London, who carried them to the Earl of Dorset's, whose lady furnished them with everything, And so they went northward as far as Northampton, where that Earl attended on them with all respect, and quickly brought a body of horse to serve for a guard to the Princess. And in a little while a small army was formed about her, who chose to be commanded by the Bishop of London, of which he too easily accepted, and was by that exposed to much censure.

[Footnote 1: And Mrs. Berkeley, afterward Lady Fitzharding. The back stairs were made a little before for that purpose. The Princess pretended she was out of order, upon some expostulations that had passed between her and the Queen, in a visit she received from her that night, therefore said she would not be disturbed till she rang her bell. Next morning, when her servants had waited two hours longer than her usual time of rising, they were afraid something was the matter with her, and finding the bed open, and her highness gone, they ran screaming to my father's lodgings, which were the next to hers, and told my mother the Princess was murdered by the priests; thence they went to the Queen, and old Mistress Buss asked her in a very rude manner what she had done with her mistress. The Queen answered her very gravely, she supposed their mistress was where she liked to be, but did assure them she knew nothing of her, but did not doubt they would hear of her again very soon. Which gave them little satisfaction, upon which there was a rumor all over Whitehall that the Queen had made away with the Princess.—Dartmouth.]

These things put the King in an inexpressible confusion. He saw himself now forsaken not only by those whom he had trusted and favored most, but even by his own children. And the army was in such distraction that there was not any one body that seemed entirely united and firm to him. A foolish ballad was made at that time treating the papists, and chiefly the Irish, in a very ridiculous manner, which had a burden, said to be Irish words, lero, lero, lilibulero, that made an impression on the army that cannot be well imagined by those who saw it not. The whole army, and at last all people both in city and country, were singing it perpetually. And perhaps never had so slight a thing so great an effect.

But now strange counsels were suggested to the King and Queen. The priests and all the violent papists saw a treaty was now opened. They knew that they must be the sacrifice. The whole design of popery must be given up, without any hope of being able in an age to think of bringing it on again. Severe laws would be made against them. And all those who intended to stick to the King, and to preserve him, would go into those laws with a particular zeal; so that they and their hopes must be now given up and sacrificed forever. They infused all this into the Queen. They said she would certainly be impeached, and witnesses would be set up against her and her son; the King's mother had been impeached in the Long Parliament; and she was to look for nothing but violence. So the Queen took up a sudden resolution of going to France with the child. The midwife, together with all who were assisting at the birth, were also carried over, or so disposed of that it could never be learned what became of them afterward.

The Queen prevailed with the King not only to consent to this, but to promise to go quickly after her. He was only to stay a day or two after her, in hope that the shadow of authority that was still left in him might keep things so quiet that she might have an undisturbed passage. So she went to Portsmouth. And thence, in a man-of-war, she went over to France, the King resolving to follow her in disguise. Care was also taken to send all the priests away. The King stayed long enough to get the Prince's answer. And when he had read it he said he did not expect so good terms. He ordered the lord chancellor to come to him next morning. But he had called secretly for the great seal. And the next morning, being December 10th, about three in the morning he went away in disguise with Sir Edward Hales, whose servant he seemed to be. They passed the river, and flung the great seal into it; which was some months after found by a fisherman near Foxhall. The King went down to a miserable fisher-boat that Hales had provided for carrying them over to France.

Thus a great king, who had yet a good army and a strong fleet, did choose rather to abandon all than either to expose himself to any danger with that part of the army that was still firm to him or to stay and see the issue of a parliament. Some put this mean and unaccountable resolution on a want of courage. Others thought it was the effect of an ill-conscience, and of some black thing under which he could not now support himself. And they who censured it the most moderately said that it showed that his priests had more regard for themselves than for him; and that he considered their interests more than his own; and that he chose rather to wander abroad with them and to try what he could do by a French force to subdue his people than to stay at home and be shut up within the bounds of law, and be brought under an incapacity of doing more mischief; which they saw was necessary to quiet those fears and jealousies for which his bad government had given so much occasion. It seemed very unaccountable, since he was resolved to go, that he did not choose rather to go in one of his yachts or frigates than to expose himself in so dangerous and ignominious a manner. It was not possible to put a good construction on any part of the dishonorable scene which he then acted.

With this his reign ended: for this was a plain deserting of his people and exposing the nation to the pillage of an army which he had ordered the Earl of Feversham to disband. And the doing this without paying them was letting so many armed men loose upon the nation; who might have done much mischief if the execution of those orders that he left behind him had not been stopped. I shall continue the recital of all that passed in this interregnum, till the throne, which he now left empty, was filled.

He was not got far, when some fishermen of Feversham, who were watching for such priests and other delinquents as they fancied were making their escape, came up to him. And they, knowing Sir Edward Hales, took both the King and him, and brought them to Feversham. The King told them who he was.[1] And that flying about brought a vast crowd together to look on this astonishing instance of the uncertainty of all worldly greatness, when he who had ruled three kingdoms and might have been the arbiter of all Europe was now in such mean hands, and so low an equipage. The people of the town were extremely disordered with this unlooked-for accident; and, though for a while they kept him as a prisoner, yet they quickly changed that into as much respect as they could possibly pay him. Here was an accident that seemed of no great consequence. Yet all the strugglings which that party have made ever since that time to this day, which from him were called afterward the Jacobites, did rise out of this; for if he had got clear away, by all that could be judged, he would not have had a party left; all would have agreed that here was a desertion, and that therefore the nation was free and at liberty to secure itself. But that following upon this gave them a color to say that he was forced away and driven out. Till now he scarce had a party but among the papists. But from this incident a party grew up that has been long very active for his interests.

[Footnote 1: And desired they would send to Eastwell for the Earl of Winchelsea; which Sir Basil Dixwell put a stop to by telling him surely they were good enough to take care of him. Which occasioned the King's saying he found there was more civility among the common people than some gentlemen, when he was returned to Whitehall.—Dartmouth.]

As soon as it was known at London that the King was gone, the 'prentices and the rabble, who had been a little quieted when they saw a treaty on foot between the King and the Prince, now broke out again upon all suspected houses, where they believed there were either priests or papists. They made great havoc of many places, not sparing the houses of ambassadors. But none was killed, no houses burned, nor were any robberies committed. Never was so much fury seen under so much management. Jeffreys finding the King was gone, saw what reason he had to look to himself, and, apprehending that he was now exposed to the rage of the people whom he had provoked with so particular a brutality, he had disguised himself to make his escape. But he fell into the hands of some who knew him. He was insulted by them with as much scorn and rudeness as they could invent. And, after many hours tossing him about, he was carried to the lord mayor, whom they charged to commit him to the Tower, which Lord Lucas had then seized, and in it had declared for the Prince. The lord mayor was so struck with the terror of this rude populace, and with the disgrace of a man who had made all people tremble before him, that he fell into fits upon it, of which he died soon after.

Upon the news of the King's desertion, it was proposed that the Prince should go on with all possible haste to London. But that was not advisable. For the King's army lay so scattered through the road all the way to London that it was not fit for him to advance faster than his troops marched before him; otherwise, any resolute officer might have seized or killed him. Though, if it had not been for that danger a great deal of mischief that followed would have been prevented by his speedy advance; for now began that turn to which all the difficulties that did afterward disorder our affairs may be justly imputed. Two gentlemen of Kent came to Windsor the morning after the Prince came thither. They were addressed to me; and they told me of the accident at Feversham, and desired to know the Prince's pleasure upon it. I was affected with this dismal reverse of the fortune of a great prince more than I think fit to express. I went immediately to Benthink and wakened him, and got him to go to the Prince and let him know what had happened, that some order might be presently given for the security of the King's person, and for taking him out of the hands of a rude multitude who said they would obey no orders but such as came from the Prince.

The Prince ordered Zuylestein to go immediately to Feversham, and to see the King safe and at full liberty to go whithersoever he pleased. But as soon as the news of the King's being at Feversham came to London, all the indignation that people had formerly conceived against him was turned to pity and compassion. The privy council met upon it. Some moved that he should be sent for. Others said he was king, and might send for his guards and coaches as he pleased, but it became not them to send for him. It was left to his general, the Earl of Feversham, to do what he thought best. So he went for him with his coaches and guards. And, as he came back through the city, he was welcomed with expressions of joy by great numbers; so slight and unstable a thing is a multitude, and so soon altered. At his coming to Whitehall, he had a great court about him. Even the papists crept out of their lurking-holes, and appeared at court with much assurance. The King himself began to take heart. And both at Feversham, and now at Whitehall, he talked in his ordinary high strain, justifying all that he had done; only he spoke a little doubtfully of the business of Magdalen College. But when he came to reflect on the state of his affairs, he saw it was so soon broken that nothing was now left to deliberate upon. So he sent the Earl of Feversham to Windsor without demanding any passport, and ordered him to desire the Prince to come to St. James' to consult with him of the best way for settling the nation.

When the news of what had passed at London came to Windsor, the Prince thought the privy council had not used him well, who after they had sent to him to take the government upon him, had made this step without consulting him. Now the scene was altered and new counsels were to be taken. The Prince heard the opinions, not only of those who had come along with him, but of such of the nobility as were now come to him, among whom the Marquis of Halifax was one. All agreed that it was not convenient that the King should stay at Whitehall. Neither the King, nor the Prince, nor the city, could have been safe if they had been both near one another. Tumults would probably have arisen out of it. The guards and the officious flatterers of the two courts would have been unquiet neighbors. It was thought necessary to stick to the point of the King's deserting his people, and not to give up that by entering upon any treaty with him. And since the Earl of Feversham, who had commanded the army against the Prince, was come without a passport he was for some days put in arrest.

It was a tender point now to dispose of the King's person. Some proposed rougher methods: the keeping him a prisoner, at least till the nation was settled, and till Ireland was secured. It was thought his being kept in custody would be such a tie on all his party as would oblige them to submit and be quiet. Ireland was in great danger. And his restraint might oblige the Earl of Tyrconnel to deliver up the government, and to disarm the papists, which would preserve that kingdom and the Protestants in it. But, because it might raise too much compassion and perhaps some disorder if the King should be kept in restraint within the kingdom, therefore the sending him to Breda was proposed. The Earl of Clarendon pressed this vehemently on account of the Irish Protestants, as the King himself told me, for those that gave their opinions in this matter did it secretly and in confidence to the Prince. The Prince said he could not deny but that this might be good and wise advice, but it was that to which he could not hearken; he was so far satisfied with the grounds of this expedition that he could act against the King in a fair and open war; but for his person, now that he had him in his power, he could not put such a hardship on him as to make him a prisoner; and he knew the Princess' temper so well that he was sure she would never bear it: nor did he know what disputes it might raise, or what effect it might have upon the Parliament that was to be called; he was firmly resolved never to suffer anything to be done against his person; he saw it was necessary to send him out of London, and he would order a guard to attend upon him who should only defend and protect his person, but not restrain him in any sort.

A resolution was taken of sending the Lords Halifax, Shrewsbury, and Delamere to London, who were first to order the English guards that were about the court to be drawn off and sent to quarters out of town, and when that was done the Count of Solms with the Dutch guards was to come and take all the posts about the court. This was obeyed without any resistance or disorder, but not without much murmuring. It was midnight before all was settled. And then these lords sent to the Earl of Middleton to desire him to let the King know that they had a message to deliver to him from the Prince. He went in to the King, and sent them word from him that they might come with it immediately. They came and found him abed. They told him the necessity of affairs required that the Prince should come presently to London; and he thought it would conduce to the safety of the King's person and the quiet of the town that he should retire to some house out of town, and they proposed Ham.

The King seemed much dejected, and asked if it must be done immediately. They told him he might take his rest first, and they added that he should be attended by a guard who should only guard his person, but should give him no sort of disturbance. Having said this, they withdrew. The Earl of Middleton came quickly after them and asked them if it would not do as well if the King should go to Rochester; for since the Prince was not pleased with his coming up from Kent it might be perhaps acceptable to him if he should go thither again. It was very visible that this was proposed in order to a second escape.

They promised to send word immediately to the Prince of Orange, who lay that night at Sion, within eight miles of London. He very readily consented to it. And the King went next day to Rochester, having ordered all that which is called the moving wardrobe to be sent before him, the Count of Solms ordering everything to be done as the King desired. A guard went with him that left him at full liberty, and paid him rather more respect than his own guards had done of late. Most of that body, as it happened, were papists. So when he went to mass they went in and assisted very reverently. And when they were asked how they could serve in an expedition that was intended to destroy their own religion, one of them answered, his soul was God's, but his sword was the Prince of Orange's. The King was so much delighted with this answer that he repeated it to all that came about him. On the same day the Prince came to St. James'. It happened to be a very rainy day. And yet great numbers came to see him. But, after they had stood long in the wet, he disappointed them; for he, who loved neither shows nor shoutings, went through the park. And even this trifle helped to set people's spirits on edge.

The revolution was thus brought about with the universal applause of the whole nation; only these last steps began to raise a fermentation. It was said, here was an unnatural thing to waken the King out of his sleep, in his own palace, and to order him to go out of it when he was ready to submit to everything. Some said he was now a prisoner, and remembered the saying of King Charles I, that the prisons and the graves of princes lay not far distant from one another; the person of the King was now struck at, as well as his government, and this specious undertaking would now appear to be only a disguised and designed usurpation. These things began to work on great numbers. And the posting of the Dutch guards where the English guards had been, gave a general disgust to the whole English army. They indeed hated the Dutch besides, on account of the good order and strict discipline they were kept under; which made them to be as much beloved by the nation as they were hated by the soldiery. The nation had never known such an inoffensive march of an army. And the peace and order of the suburbs, and the freedom of markets in and about London, were so carefully maintained that in no time fewer disorders had been committed than were heard of this winter.

None of the papists or Jacobites was insulted in any sort. The Prince had ordered me, as we came along, to take care of the papists and to secure them from all violence. When he came to London he renewed these orders, which I executed with so much zeal and care that I saw all the complaints that were brought me fully redressed. When we came to London I procured passports for all that desired to go beyond the sea. Two of the popish bishops were put in Newgate. I went thither in the Prince's name. I told them the Prince would not take upon him yet to give any orders about prisoners; as soon as he did that, they should feel the effects of it. But in the mean while I ordered them to be well used, and to be taken care of, and that their friends might be admitted to come to them; so truly did I pursue the principle of moderation even toward those from whom nothing of that sort was to be expected.

Now that the Prince was come, all the bodies about the town came to welcome him. The bishops came the next day. Only the Archbishop of Canterbury, though he had once agreed to it, yet would not come. The clergy of London came next. The city, and a great many other bodies, came likewise, and expressed a great deal of joy for the deliverance wrought for them by the Prince's means. Old Sergeant Maynard came with the men of the law. He was then near ninety, and yet he said the liveliest thing that was heard of on that occasion. The Prince took notice of his great age, and said that he had outlived all the men of the law of his time; he answered he had liked to have outlived the law itself if his highness had not come over.

The first thing to be done after the compliments were over was to consider how the nation was to be settled. The lawyers were generally of opinion that the Prince ought to declare himself king, as Henry VII had done. This, they said, would put an end to all disputes, which might otherwise grow very perplexing and tedious; and they said he might call a Parliament which would be a legal assembly if summoned by the king in fact, though his title was not yet recognized. This was plainly contrary to his declaration, by which the settlement of the nation was referred to a parliament; such a step would make all that the Prince had hitherto done pass for an aspiring ambition only to raise himself; and it would disgust those who had been hitherto the best affected to his designs, and make them less concerned in the quarrel if, instead of staying till the nation should offer him the crown, he would assume it as a conquest.

These reasons determined the Prince against that proposition. He called all the peers and the members of the three last parliaments that were in town, together with some of the citizens of London. When these met it was told them that, in the present distraction, the Prince desired their advice about the best methods of settling the nation. It was agreed in both these Houses, such as they were, to make an address to the Prince, desiring him to take the administration of the Government into his hands in the interim. The next proposition passed not so unanimously; for, it being moved that the Prince should be likewise desired to write missive letters to the same effect, and for the same persons to whom writs were issued out for calling a parliament, that so there might be an assembly of men in the form of a parliament, though without writs under the great seal, such as that was that had called home King Charles II.

To this the Earl of Nottingham objected that such a convention of the states could be no legal assembly unless summoned by the King's writ. Therefore he moved that an address might be made to the King to order the writs to be issued. Few were of his mind. The matter was carried the other way, and orders were given for those letters to be sent round the nation.

The King continued a week at Rochester. And both he himself and everybody else saw that he was at full liberty, and that the guard about him put him under no sort of restraint. Many that were zealous for his interests went to him and pressed him to stay and to see the issue of things: a party would appear for him; good terms would be got for him; and things would be brought to a reasonable agreement. He was much distracted between his own inclinations and the importunities of his friends. The Queen, hearing what had happened, writ a most vehement letter to him, pressing his coming over, remembering him of his promise, which she charged on him in a very earnest if not in an imperious strain. This letter was intercepted. I had an account of it from one that read it. The Prince ordered it to be conveyed to the King, and that determined him. So he gave secret orders to prepare a vessel for him, and drew a paper, which he left on his table, reproaching the nation for their forsaking him. He declared that though he was going to seek for foreign aid to restore him to his throne, yet he would not make use of it to overthrow either the religion established or the laws of the land. And so he left Rochester very secretly on the last day of this memorable year and got safe over to France.

H.D. TRAILL

The convention for filling the vacant throne met on January 22d, when Halifax was chosen president in the Lords; Powle speaker of the Commons. A letter from William, read in both Houses, informed their members that he had endeavored to the best of his power to discharge the trust reposed in him, and that it now rested with the convention to lay the foundation of a firm security for their religion, laws, and liberties. The Prince then went on to refer to the dangerous condition of the Protestants in Ireland, and the present state of things abroad, which obliged him to tell them that next to the danger of unreasonable divisions among themselves, nothing could be so fatal as too great a delay in their consultations. And he further intimated that as England was already bound by treaty to help the Dutch in such exigencies as, deprived of the troops which he had brought over, and threatened with war by Louis XIV, they might easily be reduced to, so he felt confident that the cheerful concurrence of the Dutch in preserving this kingdom would meet with all the returns of friendship from Protestants and Englishmen whenever their own condition should require assistance.

To this the two Houses replied with an address thanking the Prince for his great care in the administration of the affairs of the kingdom to this time, and formally continuing to him the same commission, recommending to his particular care the present state of Ireland. William's answer to this address was characteristic both of his temperament and his preoccupation. "My lords and gentlemen," he said, "I am glad that what I have done hath pleased you; and since you desire me to continue the administration of affairs, I am willing to accept it. I must recommend to you the consideration of affairs abroad which makes it fit for you to expedite your business, not only for making a settlement at home on a good foundation, but for the safety of Europe."

On the 28th the Commons resolved themselves into a committee of the whole House, and Richard Hampden, son of the great John, was voted into the chair. The honor of having been the first to speak the word which was on everybody's lips belongs to Gilbert Dolben, son of a late archbishop of York, who "made a long speech tending to prove that the King's deserting his kingdom without appointing any person to administer the government amounted in reason and judgment of law to a demise." Sir Robert Howard, one of the members for Castle Rising, went a step further, and asserted that the throne was vacant. The extreme Tories made a vain effort to procure an adjournment, but the combination against them of Whigs and their own moderates was too strong for them, and after a long and stormy debate the House resolved "That King James II, having endeavored to subvert the constitution by breaking the original contract between the King and people, and by the advice of Jesuits and other wicked persons having violated the fundamental laws and withdrawn himself out of the kingdom, has abdicated the government, and that the throne is thereby vacant."

This resolution was at once sent up to the Lords. Before, however, they could proceed to consider it, another message arrived from the Commons to the effect that they had just voted it inconsistent with the safety and welfare of this Protestant nation to be governed by a popish king.

To this resolution the Peers assented with a readiness which showed in advance that James had no party in the Upper House, and that the utmost length to which the Tories in that body were prepared to go was to support the proposal of a regency. The first resolution of the Commons was then put aside in order that this proposal might be discussed. It was Archbishop Sancroft's plan, who, however, did not make his appearance to advocate it, and in his absence it was supported by Rochester and Nottingham, while Halifax and Danby led the opposition to it. After a day's debate it was lost by the narrow majority of two, forty-nine peers declaring in its favor and fifty-one against it.

The Lords then went into committee on the Commons' resolution, and at once proceeded, as was natural enough, to dispute the clause in its preamble which referred to the original contract between the King and the people. No Tory, of course, could really have subscribed to the doctrine implied in these words; but it was doubtless as hard in those days as in these to interest an assembly of English politicians in affirmations of abstract political principle, and some Tories probably thought it not worth while to multiply causes of dissent with the Lower House by attacking a purely academic recital of their resolution. Anyhow, the numbers of the minority slightly fell off, only forty-six Peers objecting to the phrase, while fifty-three voted that it should stand. The word "deserted" was then substituted without a division for the word "abdicated," and, the hour being late, the Lords adjourned.

The real battle, of course, was now at hand, and to anyone who assents to the foregoing criticisms it will be evident that it was far less of a conflict on a point of constitutional principle, and far more of a struggle between the parties of two distinct—one cannot call them rival—claimants to the throne than high-flying Whig writers are accustomed to represent it. It would, of course, be too much to say that the Whigs insisted on declaring the vacancy of the throne, only because they wished to place William on it, and that the Tories contended for a demise of the crown, only because they wished an English princess to succeed to the throne rather than a Dutch prince. Still, it is pretty certain that, but for this conflict of preferences, the two political parties, who had made so little difficulty of agreeing in the declaration that James had ceased to reign, would never have found it so hard to concur in its almost necessary sequence that the throne was vacant.

The debate on the last clause of the resolution began, and it soon became apparent that the Whigs were outnumbered. The forty-nine peers who had supported the proposal of a regency—which implied that the royal title was still in James—were bound, of course, to oppose the proposition that the throne was vacant; and they were reenforced by several peers who held that that title had already devolved upon Mary. An attempt to compromise the dispute by omitting the words pronouncing the throne vacant, and inserting words which merely proclaimed the Prince and Princess of Orange king and queen, was rejected by fifty-two votes to forty-seven; and the original clause was then put, and negatived by fifty-five votes to forty-one.

Thus amended by the substitution of "deserted" for "abdicated," and the omission of the words "and that the throne is thereby vacant," the resolution was sent back to the Commons, who instantly and without a division disagreed with the amendments. The situation was now becoming critical. The prospect of a deadlock between the two branches of the convention threw London into a ferment; crowds assembled in Palace Yard; petitions were presented in that tumultuous fashion which converts supplication into menace. To their common credit, however, both parties united in resistance to these attempts at popular coercion; and William himself interposed to enjoin a stricter police of the capital. On Monday, February 4th, the Lords resolved to insist on their amendments; on the following day the Commons reaffirmed their disagreement with them by two hundred eighty-two votes to one hundred fifty-one. A free conference between the two Houses was then arranged, and met on the following day.

But the dispute, like many another in our political history, had meanwhile been settled out of court. Between the date of the peers' vote and the conference Mary had communicated to Danby her high displeasure at the conduct of those who were setting up her claims in opposition to those of her husband; and William, who had previously maintained an unbroken silence, now made, unsolicited, a declaration of a most important and, indeed, of a conclusive kind. If the convention, he said, chose to adopt the plan of a regency, he had nothing to say against it, only they must look out for some other person to fill the office, for he himself would not consent to do so. As to the alternative proposal of putting Mary on the throne and allowing him to reign by her courtesy, "No man," he said, "can esteem a woman more than I do the Princess; but I am so made that I cannot think of holding anything by apron strings; nor can I think it reasonable to have any share in the government unless it be put in my own person, and that for the term of my life. If you think fit to settle it otherwise I will not oppose you, but will go back to Holland, and meddle no more in your affairs."

These few sentences of plain-speaking swept away the clouds of intrigue and pedantry as by a wholesome gust of wind. Both political parties at once perceived that there was but one possible issue from the situation. The conference was duly held, and the constitutional question was, with great display of now unnecessary learning, solemnly debated; but the managers for the two Houses met only to register a foregone conclusion. The word "abdicated" was restored; the vacancy of the throne was voted by sixty-two votes to forty-seven; and it was immediately proposed and carried without a division that the Prince and Princess of Orange should be declared king and queen of England.

It now only remained to give formal effect to this resolution, and in so doing to settle the conditions whereon the crown, which the convention had now distinctly recognized itself as conferring upon the Prince and Princess, should be conferred. A committee appointed by the Commons to consider what safeguards should be taken against the aggressions of future sovereigns had made a report in which they recommended not only a solemn enunciation of ancient constitutional principles, but the enactment of new laws. The Commons, however, having regard to the importance of prompt action, judiciously resolved on carrying out only the first part of the programme. They determined to preface the tender of the crown to William and Mary by a recital of the royal encroachments of the past reigns, and a formal assertion of the constitutional principles against which such encroachments had offended. This document, drafted by a committee of which the celebrated Somers, then a scarcely known young advocate, was the chairman, was the famous "Declaration of Right." The grievances which it recapitulated in its earlier portion were as follows:

(1) The royal pretension to dispense with and suspend laws without consent of Parliament; (2) the punishment of subjects, as in the "Seven Bishops'" case, for petitioning the crown; (3) the establishment of the illegal court of high commission for ecclesiastical affairs; (4) the levy of taxes without the consent of Parliament; (5) the maintenance of a standing army in time of peace without the same consent; (6) the disarmament of Protestants while papists were both armed and employed contrary to law; (7) the violation of the freedom of election; (8) the prosecution in the king's bench of suits only cognizable in Parliament; (9) the return of partial and corrupt juries; (10) the requisition of excessive bail; (11) the imposition of excessive fines; (12) the infliction of illegal and cruel punishments; (13) the grants of the estates of accused persons before conviction.

Then after solemnly reaffirming the popular rights from which these abuses of the prerogative derogated, the declaration goes on to recite that, having an "entire confidence" William would "preserve them from the violation of the rights which they have here asserted, the Three Estates do resolve that William and Mary, Prince and Princess of Orange, be and be declared king and queen: to hold the crown and royal dignity, to them the said Prince and Princess during their lives and the life of the survivor of them; and the sole and full exercise of the royal power be only in and exercised by the said Prince of Orange, in the names of the said Prince and Princess during their lives, and, after their deceases, the said crown and royal dignity of the said kingdoms and dominions to the heirs of the body of the said Princess; and, for default of such issue, to the Princess Anne of Denmark and the heirs of her body; and, for the default of such issue, to the issue of the said Prince of Orange." Then followed an alteration required by the scrupulous conscience of Nottingham in the terms of the oath of allegiance.

On February 12th Mary arrived from Holland. On the following day, in the Banqueting House at Whitehall, the Prince and Princess of Orange were waited on by both Houses of convention in a body. The declaration was read by the clerk of the crown; the sovereignty solemnly tendered to them by Halifax, in the name of the Estates; and on the same day they were proclaimed king and queen in the usual places in the cities of London and Westminster.



%PETER THE GREAT MODERNIZES RUSSIA%

SUPPRESSION OF THE STRELTSI

A.D. 1689

ALFRED RAMBAUD

It is the glory of Peter the Great to have changed the character of his country and elevated its position among European nations. By opening Russia to the influence of Western civilization he prepared the way for the advent of that vast empire as one of the world's great powers.

Peter I Alexeievitch was born in Moscow June 9 (N.S.), 1672. After a joint reign with his half-brother Ivan (1682-1696), he ruled alone until his death, February 8 (N.S.), 1725. He is distinguished among princes as a ruler who temporarily laid aside the character of royalty "in order to learn the art of governing better." By his travels under a common name and in a menial disguise, he acquired fruits of observation which proved of greater practical advantage in his career than comes to sovereigns from training in the knowledge of the schools. His restless and inquiring spirit was never subdued by the burdens of state, and his matured powers proved equal to the demands laid upon him by the great formative work which he was called to accomplish for his people.

The character and early career of this extraordinary man are here set forth by Rambaud in a masterly sketch, showing the first achievements which laid the foundation of Peter's constructive policies.

Alexis Mikhailovitch, Czar of Russia, had by his first wife, Maria Miloslavski, two sons, Feodor and Ivan, and six daughters; by his second wife, Natalia Narychkine, one son (who became Peter I) and two daughters. As he was twice married, and the kinsmen of each wife had, according to custom, surrounded the throne, there existed two factions in the palace, which were brought face to face by his death and that of his eldest son, Feodor. The Miloslavskis had on their side the claim of seniority, the number of royal children left by Maria, and, above all, the fact that Ivan was the elder of the two surviving sons; but unluckily for them, Ivan was notoriously imbecile both in body and mind.

On the side of the Narychkines was the interest excited by the precocious intelligence of Peter, and the position of legal head of all the royal family, which, according to Russian law, gave to Natalia Narychkine her title of czarina dowager. Both factions had for some time taken their measures and recruited their partisans. Who should succeed Feodor? Was it to be the son of the Miloslavski, or the son of the Narychkine? The Miloslavskis were first defeated on legal grounds. Taking the incapacity of Ivan into consideration, the boyars and the Patriarch Joachim proclaimed the young Peter, then nine years old, Czar. The Narychkines triumphed: Natalia became czarina regent, recalled from exile her foster-father, Matveef, and surrounded herself by her brothers and uncles.

The Miloslavskis' only means of revenge lay in revolt, but they were without a head; for it was impossible for Ivan to take the lead. The eldest of his six sisters was thirty-two years of age, the youngest nineteen; the most energetic of them was Sophia, who was twenty-five. These six princesses saw themselves condemned to the dreary destiny of the Russian czarevni, and were forced to renounce all hopes of marriage, with no prospects but to grow old in the seclusion of the terem, subjected by law to the authority of a step-mother. All their youth had to look forward to was the cloister. They, however, only breathed in action; and though imperial etiquette and Byzantine manners, prejudices, and traditions forbade them to appear in public, even Byzantine traditions offered them models to follow. Had not Pulcheria, daughter of an emperor, reigned at Constantinople in the name of her brother, the incapable Theodosius? Had she not contracted a nominal marriage with the brave Marcian, who was her sword against the barbarians?

Here was the ideal that Sophia could propose to herself; to be a czardievitsa, a "woman-emperor." To emancipate herself from the rigorous laws of the terem, to force the "twenty-seven locks" of the song, to raise the fata that covered her face, to appear in public and meet the looks of men, needed energy, cunning, and patience that could wait and be content to proceed by successive efforts. Sophia's first step was to appear at Feodor's funeral, though it was not the custom for any but the widow and the heir to be present. There her litter encountered that of Natalia Narychkine, and her presence forced the Czarina-mother to retreat. She surrounded herself with a court of educated men, who publicly praised her, encouraged and excited her to action. Simeon Polotski and Silvester Medviedef wrote verses in her honor, recalled to her the example of Pulcheria and Olga, compared her to the Virgin Queen, Elizabeth of England, and even to Semiramis; we might think we were listening to Voltaire addressing Catharine II. They played on her name Sophia (wisdom), and declared she had been endowed with the quality as well as the title. Polotski dedicated to her the Crown of Faith, and Medviedef his Gifts of the Holy Spirit.