anterior to Anjou’s visit to England, will admit that it was hardly human not to be deceived by the apolitical aspects of that moment.  The Queen, moreover, took pains to upbraid the states-general, by letter, with their disrespect and ingratitude towards the Duke of Anjou—­behaviour with which he had been “justly scandalized.”  For her own part, she assured them of her extreme displeasure at learning that such a course of conduct had been held with a view to her especial contentment—­“as if the person of Monsieur, son of France, brother of the King, were disagreeable to her, or as if she wished him ill;” whereas, on the contrary, they would best satisfy her wishes by showing him all the courtesy to which his high degree and his eminent services entitled him.

The estates, even before receiving this letter, had, however, acted in its spirit.  They had addressed elaborate apologies and unlimited professions to the Duke.  They thanked him heartily for his achievements, expressed unbounded regret at his departure, with sincere hopes for his speedy return, and promised “eternal remembrance” of his heroic virtues.  They assured him, moreover, that should the first of the following March arrive without bringing with it an honorable peace with his Catholic Majesty, they should then feel themselves compelled to declare that the King had forfeited his right to the sovereignty of these provinces.  In this case they concluded that, as the inhabitants would be then absolved from their allegiance to the Spanish monarch, it would then be in their power to treat with his Highness of Anjou concerning the sovereignty, according to the contract already existing.

These assurances were ample, but the states, knowing the vanity of the man, offered other inducements, some of which seemed sufficiently puerile.  They promised that “his statue, in copper, should be placed in the public squares of Antwerp and Brussels, for the eternal admiration of posterity,” and that a “crown of olive-leaves should be presented to him every year.”  The Duke—­not inexorable to such courteous solicitations—­ was willing to achieve both immortality and power by continuing his friendly relations with the states, and he answered accordingly in the most courteous terms.  The result of this interchange of civilities it will be soon our duty to narrate.

At the close of the year the Count of Bossu died, much to the regret of the Prince of Orange, whose party—­since his release from prison by virtue of the Ghent treaty—­he had warmly espoused.  “We are in the deepest distress in the world,” wrote the Prince to his brother, three days before the Count’s death, “for the dangerous malady of M. de Bossu.  Certainly, the country has much to lose in his death, but I hope that God will not so much afflict us.”  Yet the calumniators of the day did not scruple to circulate, nor the royalist chroniclers to perpetuate, the most senseless and infamous fables on the subject