



Produced by Al Haines.


                              GOD AND THE
                                  KING


                                   BY

                             MARJORIE BOWEN

                      AUTHOR OF "I WILL MAINTAIN"



                           'LUCTOR ET EMERGO
                             MOTTO OF ZEELAND



                           METHUEN & GO. LTD
                          36 ESSEX STREET W.C.
                                 LONDON




                          _Published in 1911_




                               DEDICATED
                            VERY GRATEFULLY
                                   TO
                        MAJOR-GENERAL F. DE BAS
               DIRECTOR OF THE MILITARY HISTORICAL BRANCH
                    GENERAL STAFF OF THE DUTCH ARMY




                                CONTENTS

                                 PART I
                             THE REVOLUTION

CHAP.

      I. THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
     II. THE EVENING OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
    III. THE NIGHT OF JUNE 30TH, 1688
     IV. THE MESSENGER FROM ENGLAND
      V. THE PRINCESS OF ORANGE
     VI. THE LETTERS OF MR. HERBERT
    VII. THE SILENT WOOD
   VIII. THE POLICY OF THE PRINCE
     IX. FRANCE MOVES
      X. THE ENGLISH AMBASSADOR
     XI. THREE PAWNS
    XII. FRANCE MOVES AGAIN
   XIII. THE GREAT ENTERPRISE
    XIV. STORMS
     XV. THE SECOND SAILING
    XVI. NEWS FROM ENGLAND
   XVII. FAREWELL TO HOLLAND
  XVIII. BY THE GRACE OF GOD


                                PART II
                               THE QUEEN

      I. A DARK DAWNING
     II. THE KING AT BAY
    III. THE BEST OF LIFE
     IV. THE SECRET ANGUISH
      V. A WOMAN'S STRENGTH
     VI. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN!
    VII. THE SHADOW
   VIII. FEAR
     IX. CHRISTMAS EVE
      X. THE QUEEN
     XI. THE BITTER PARTING


                                PART III
                                THE KING

      I. *VITA SINE AMOR MORS EST*
     II. THE KING IS NEEDED
    III. ATTAINMENT
     IV. A MAN'S STRENGTH
      V. A LEADER OF NATIONS
     VI. THE KING'S AGENT
    VII. THE BANK OF ENGLAND
   VIII. THE BREAKING FRIENDSHIP
     IX. PEACE
      X. THE BROKEN FRIENDSHIP
     XI. THE KING'S HUMILIATION
    XII. APATHY
   XIII. FRANCE CHALLENGES
    XIV. THE VANGUARD OF THE WORLD
     XV. THE EVE OF WAR
    XVI. GOD AND THE KING




                                 PART I

                             THE REVOLUTION


"Un prince profond dans ses vues; habile a former des ligues et a reunir
les esprits; plus heureux a exciter les guerres qu'a combattre; plus a
craindre encore dans le secret du cabinet, qu'a la tete des armees; un
ennemi que la haine du nom Francais avoit rendu capable d'imaginer de
grandes chose et de les executer; un de ces genies qui semblent etre nes
pour mouvoir a leur gre les peuples et les souverains--un grand
homme...."--MASSILLON, _Oraison Funebre de M. le Dauthin_.



                               CHAPTER I

                    THE AFTERNOON OF JUNE 30th, 1688


"There is no managing an unreasonable people.  By Heaven, my lord, they
do not deserve my care."

The speaker was standing by an open window that looked on to one of the
courts of Whitehall Palace, listening to the unusual and tumultuous
noises that filled the sweet summer air--noises of bells, of shouting,
the crack of fireworks, and the report of joyous mock artillery.

It was late afternoon, and the small apartment was already left by the
departing daylight and obscured with a dusky shade, but no candles were
lit.

There was one other person in the room, a gentleman seated opposite the
window at a tall black cabinet decorated with gold lacquer Chinese
figures, that showed vivid even in the twilight. He was watching his
companion with a gentle expression of judgment, and twirling in his slim
fingers a half-blown white rose.

An over-richness of furniture, hangings, and appointments distinguished
the chamber, which was little more than a cabinet. The flush of rich
hues in the Mortlake tapestries, the gold on the China bureau, the
marble, gilt, and carving about the mantel, two fine and worldly Italian
paintings and crystal sconces, set in silver, combined to give the place
an overpowering air of lavishness; noticeable in one corner was a large
ebony and enamel crucifix.

The persons of these two gentlemen were in keeping with this air of
wealth, both being dressed in an opulent style, but in themselves they
differed entirely from each other.

Neither was young, and both would have been conspicuous in any company
for extreme handsomeness, but there was no further likeness.

He at the window was by many years the older, and past the prime of
life, but the magnificence of his appearance created no impression of
age.

Unusually tall, finely made and graceful, he carried himself with great
dignity; his countenance, which had been of the purest type of
aristocratic beauty, was now lined and marred--not so much by years, as
by a certain gloom and sourness that had become his permanent
expression; his eyes were large, grey, and commanding, his mouth noble,
but disfigured by a sneer, his complexion blond and pale, his nose
delicately formed and straight; a fair peruke shaded his face and hung
on to his shoulders; he was dressed, splendidly but carelessly, in deep
blue satins, a quantity of heavy Venice lace, and a great sword belt of
embroidered leather.

The other gentleman was still in the prime of life, being under fifty,
and looking less than his age.

Slight in build, above the medium height, and justly proportioned,
handsome and refined in feature, dressed with great richness in the
utmost extreme of fashion, he appeared the very type of a noble idle
courtier, but in his long, straight, heavy-lidded eyes, thin sensitive
mouth, and the deeply cut curve of his nostril was an expression of
power and intelligence above that of a mere favourite of courts.

He wore his own fair hair frizzed and curled out on to his shoulders and
brought very low on to his forehead; under his chin was a knot of black
satin that accentuated the pale delicacy of his complexion; every detail
of his attire showed the same regard to his appearance and the mode.
Had it not been for that unconscious look of mastery in the calm face he
would have seemed no more than a wealthy man of fashion.  In his
beautifully formed and white hands he held, as well as the rose, a
handkerchief that he now and then pressed to his lips; in great contrast
to the other man, who appeared self-absorbed and natural, his movements
and his pose were extremely affected.

A pause of silence wore out; the man at the window beat his fingers
impatiently on the high walnut back of the chair beside him, then
suddenly turned a frowning face towards the darkening room.

"My lord, what doth this presage?"

He asked the question heavily and as if he had much confidence and trust
in the man to whom he spoke.

My lord answered instantly, in a voice as artificial as the fastidious
appointments of his dress.

"Nothing that Your Majesty's wisdom and the devotion of your servants
cannot control and dispel."

James Stewart turned his eyes again to the open casement.

"Do you take it so lightly, my lord?" he asked uneasily.  "All London
shouting for these disloyal prelates--the city against me?"

Lord Sunderland replied, his peculiarly soothing tones lowered to a kind
of caressing gentleness, while he kept his eyes fixed on the King.

"Not the city, sir.  Your Majesty heareth but the mobile--the handful
that will always rejoice at a set given to authority.  The people love
Your Majesty and applaud your measures."

"But I am not popular as my brother was," said the King, but half
satisfied, and with an angry look towards London.

The Earl was ready with his softly worded reassurances.

"His late Majesty never put his popularity to the test--I think he could
not have done what you have, sir--is not the true Faith"--here my lord
crossed himself--"predominant in England--hath Your Majesty any
Protestant left in office--have you not an Ambassador at the Vatican, is
not a holy Jesuit father on the Council board, Mass heard publicly in
Whitehall--the papal Nuncio openly received?--and hath not Your Majesty
done these great things in three short years?"

A glow overspread the King's sombre face; he muttered a few words of a
Latin prayer, and bent his head.

"I have done a little," he said--"a little----"

Sunderland lowered his eyes.

"Seeing this is a Protestant nation, Your Majesty hath done a deal."

The King was silent a moment, then spoke, gloomy again.

"But, save yourself, my lord, and Dover and Salisbury, no person of
consequence hath come into the pale of the Church--and how hath my
Declaration of Indulgence been received? Discontent, disobedience from
the clergy, insolence from the Bishops, and now this,--near to
rebellion!"  His eyes darkened. "Could you have heard the army on
Hounslow Heath, my lord--they shouted as one man to hear these traitors
had been acquitted."

He began to stride up and down the room, talking sternly, half to
himself, half to Sunderland, the speech of an angry, obstinate man.

"But I'll not give way.  Who is this Jack Somers who defended them?
Make a note of him--some Whig cur!  The Dissenters too, what is the
Anglican Church to them that they must stand by her?  Do I not offer
them also freedom of conscience?  Do not they also benefit by the repeal
of the Test Act?"

Sunderland made no remark; he sat with his hand over the lower part of
his face.  By the expression of his eyes it might seem that he was
smiling; but the light was fading, and James did not look at his
minister.

"I'll break the Colleges too.  Let them look to it.  I'll go on.  Am I
not strong enough?  They are rebels at Oxford--I'll take no
rebellion--that was my father's fault; he was not strong enough at
first--it must be put down now--now, eh, my Lord Sunderland?"

He stopped abruptly before the Earl, who rose with an air of humility.

"It is my poor opinion, oft repeated, that Your Majesty must stop for
nothing, but take these grumblers with a firm hand and crush them."

This counsel, though not new, seemed to please the King.

"You have ever given me good advice, my lord."  He paused, then added,
"Father Petre is always speaking against you, but I do not listen--no, I
do not listen."

"It is my misfortune to be unpopular with the Catholics, though I have
done what might be for their service."

"I do not listen," repeated the King hastily; he seated himself in the
carved chair beside the bureau.  "But I must tell you one thing," he
added, after an instant.  "M. Barillon thinketh I go too far."

Sunderland remained standing.

"He hath told me so," he answered quietly.

"What doth he mean?" asked James eagerly, and with the air of depending
entirely on the other's interpretation.

"This," replied the Earl suavely--"that, good friend as His Christian
Majesty is to you, it doth not suit his pride that you, sir, should grow
great without his help--he would rather have Your Majesty the slave than
the master of the people, rather have you dependent on him than a free
ally."

"I'll not be dictated to," said the King.  "My brother was too much the
creature of Louis, but I will not have him meddle in my affairs."

"M. Barillon doth his duty to his master," answered the Earl. "Your
Majesty need pay no attention to his warnings----"

"Warnings!" echoed the King, with sullen fire.  "I take no warnings from
an Ambassador of France."  Then he sat forward and added in a quick,
half-baffled fashion, "Yet there are dangers----"

"What dangers, sire?"

"The people are so stubborn----"

"They complain but they bow, sire; and soon they will not even
complain."

"Then M. Barillon mentioned----"  The King paused abruptly.

"What, sire?"

"My nephew, William."

As he spoke James glanced quickly at Sunderland, who returned the gaze
calmly and mildly.

"My nephew, William--what is he plotting?"

"Plotting, Your Majesty?"

"He hath never been friendly to me," broke out the King fiercely.  "Why
did he refuse his consent to the Indulgence?--he who hath always stood
for toleration?"

"As the head of the Protestant interest in Europe he could do no less,
sire."

"He hath suborned my daughter," continued the King, in the same tone.
"Seduced her from her duty--but now"--he crossed himself--"God be
thanked, I have an heir.  I do not need to so consider these
Calvinists"--he gave the word an accent of bitter dislike--"yet I doubt
he meaneth mischief----"

"I do not think so, sire.  His hands are so full in keeping his own
country afloat he can scarce have the time to meddle----"

The King interrupted.

"He _doth_ meddle--his design is to drag me into a war with France--I
doubt he hath more intrigues afoot in England than we wot of, my lord.
Did M. de Zuylestein come wholly to congratulate us on the birth of the
Prince?  He is over often closeted with the Whig lords--and so was
Dyckfelt--a knowing man."

Sunderland answered frankly.

"His Highness must have an interest in the kingdom of which his wife was
till so lately the heiress, and I doubt not that he would try to foster
discontents among the opposition, since he can hardly like the present
policy of Your Majesty, having all his life been under the endeavour of
persuading England to join his coalition against France--but he hath not
the power (nor, I think, the will) to disturb Your Majesty."

James smiled reflectively.

"I believe he hath his hands full," he admitted.  "He is not so steady
in the states."  His smile deepened as he thought on the critical
situation of his son-in-law, then vexation conquered, and he added
sharply, "M. Barillon said he but waited a chance to openly
interfere--he would not send the English regiments back, which looked
ill, and he is very friendly with Mr. Sidney----"

The King paused.

"Mr. Sidney is your uncle, my lord," he added, after a little, "and a
close friend of the Prince of Orange--I was warned of that."

"By M. de Barillon?" asked Sunderland gently.

"Yes, my lord.  But I took no heed of it--yet is it true that my Lady
Sunderland wrote often to Mr. Sidney when he was at The Hague, and that
you were privy to it?"

"There was some little exchange of gallantries, sire, no more. My lady
is close friends with Mr. Sidney, and would commission him for horses,
plants, candles, and such things as can be bought with advantage at The
Hague."

"And did she write to the Lady Mary?"

Sunderland smiled.

"She had that honour once--the subject was a recipe for treacle water."

"Well, well," said the King, in a relieved tone of half apology, "I am
so hedged about I begin to distrust my best servants. I must be short
with M. Barillon; he maketh too much of my friendship with His Majesty."

"That is the jealousy of France, sire, that ever desireth a hand in your
affairs."

James answered testily.

"Let them take care.  M. Barillon said my envoys abroad had sent me
warning of what my nephew designed--that is not true, my lord?"

"I have received no such letters, sire, and Your Majesty's foreign
correspondence toucheth no hands but mine."

The King rose and struck the bell on the black lacquer cabinet; his
exceedingly ill-humour was beginning, as always, to be softened by the
influence of Lord Sunderland, who had more command over him than even
the Jesuit, Father Petre, who was commonly supposed to be his most
intimate counsellor.

When the summons was answered the King called for candles, and went over
to the window again.

The dusk was stained with the glow of a hundred bonfires, lit by good
Protestants in honour of the acquittal of the seven bishops charged with
treason for offering His Majesty a petition against the reading of the
Declaration of Indulgence from the pulpits of the Anglican churches; the
verdict and the demonstration were alike hateful to the King, and he
could scarce restrain his furious chagrin as he saw the triumphant
rockets leap into the deep azure sky.

He thought bitterly of the murmuring army on Hounslow Heath; had they
been steadfastly loyal he would hardly have restrained from setting them
on to the defiant capital which they had been gathered together to
overawe.

The candles were brought, and lit the rich little chamber with a ruddy
light that showed the glitter of glass and gilt, lacquer and silver, the
moody face of the King, and the calm countenance of his minister.

"My nephew would never dare," muttered His Majesty at last, "nor would
Mary be so forgetful of her duty----"  He turned into the room again.
"I think you are right, my lord; he hath too much to do at home.  But I
am