This was soon signally proved.  In March the princes and ambassadors who had been assembled at the Hague separated and scarcely had they separated when all their plans were disconcerted by a bold and skilful move of the enemy.

Lewis was sensible that the meeting of the Congress was likely to produce a great effect on the public mind of Europe.  That effect he determined to counteract by striking a sudden and terrible blow.  While his enemies were settling how many troops each of them should furnish, he ordered numerous divisions of his army to march from widely distant points towards Mons, one of the most important, if not the most important, of the fortresses which protected the Spanish Netherlands.  His purpose was discovered only when it was all but accomplished.  William, who had retired for a few days to Loo, learned, with surprise and extreme vexation, that cavalry, infantry, artillery, bridges of boats, were fast approaching the fated city by many converging routes.  A hundred thousand men had been brought together.  All the implements of war had been largely provided by Louvois, the first of living administrators.  The command was entrusted to Luxemburg, the first of living generals.  The scientific operations were directed by Vauban, the first of living engineers.  That nothing might be wanting which could kindle emulation through all the ranks of a gallant and loyal army, the magnificent King himself had set out from Versailles for the camp.  Yet William had still some faint hope that it might be possible to raise the siege.  He flew to the Hague, put all the forces of the States General in motion, and sent pressing messages to the German Princes.  Within three weeks after he had received the first hint of the danger, he was in the neighbourhood of the besieged city, at the head of near fifty thousand troops of different nations.  To attack a superior force commanded by such a captain as Luxemburg was a bold, almost a desperate, enterprise.  Yet William was so sensible that the loss of Mons would be an almost irreparable disaster and disgrace that he made up his mind to run the hazard.  He was convinced that the event of the siege would determine the policy of the Courts of Stockholm and Copenhagen.  Those Courts had lately seemed inclined to join the coalition.  If Mons fell, they would certainly remain neutral; they might possibly become hostile.  “The risk,” he wrote to Heinsius, “is great; yet I am not without hope.  I will do what can be done.  The issue is in the hands of God.”  On the very day on which this letter was written Mons fell.  The siege had been vigorously pressed.  Lewis himself, though suffering from the gout, had set the example of strenuous exertion.  His household troops, the finest body of soldiers in Europe, had, under his eye, surpassed themselves.  The young nobles of his court had tried to attract his notice by exposing themselves to the hottest fire with the same gay alacrity with which they were wont to exhibit