On the 10th of May an English fleet, commanded by Admiral Byng, appeared in the waters of Port Mahon; it at once attacked M. de la Galissonniere.  The latter succeeded in preventing the English from approaching land.  After an obstinate struggle, Admiral Byng, afraid of losing his fleet, fell back on Gibraltar.  The garrison of Fort St. Philip waited in vain for the return of the squadron; left to its own devices, it nevertheless held out; the fortifications seemed to be impregnable; the siege-works proceeded slowly; the soldiers were disgusted, and began to indulge to excess in the wine of Spain.  “No one who gets drunk shall have the honor of mounting the breach,” said Richelieu’s general order.  Before long he resolved to attempt the assault.

[Illustration:  Attack on Fort St. Philip——­218]

Fort St. Philip towered up proudly on an enormous mass of rock; the French regiments flung themselves into the fosses, setting against the ramparts ladders that were too short; the soldiers mounted upon one another’s shoulders, digging their bayonets into the interstices between the stones; the boldest were already at the top of the bastions.  On the 28th of June, at daybreak, three of the forts were in possession of the French; the same day the English commandant decided upon capitulation.  The Duke of Fronsac, Marshal Richelieu’s son, hurried to Versailles to announce the good news.  There was great joy at court and amongst the French nation; the French army and navy considered themselves avenged of England’s insults.  In London Admiral Byng was brought to trial; he was held responsible for the reverse, and was shot, notwithstanding the protests of Voltaire and of Richelieu himself.  At the same time the king’s troops were occupying Corsica in the name of the city of Genoa, the time-honored ally of France.  Mistress of half the Mediterranean, and secure of the neutrality of Holland, France could have concentrated her efforts upon the sea, and have maintained a glorious struggle with England, on the sole condition of keeping peace on the Continent.  The policy was simple, and the national interest palpable; King Louis XV. and some of his ministers understood this; but they allowed themselves to drift into forgetfulness of it.

For a long time past, under the influence of Count Kaunitz, a young diplomat equally bold and shrewd, “frivolous in his tastes and profound in his views,” Maria Theresa was inclining to change the whole system of her alliances in Europe; she had made advances to France.  Count Kaunitz had found means of pleasing Madame de Pompadour; the empress put the crowning touch to the conquest by writing herself to the favorite, whom she called “My cousin.”  The Great Frederick, on the contrary, all the time that he was seeking to renew with the king his former offensive and defensive relations, could not manage to restrain the flow of his bitter irony.  Louis XV. had felt hurt, on his own account