five hundred officers with their servants, and a considerable sum of money were demanded:  and as soon as they should be informed that the Chevalier was in condition to make this provision, it was said that notice should be given him of the places to which he might send, and of the persons who were to be trusted.  I do not mention some inconveniences which they touched upon arising from a delay; because their opinion was clearly for this delay, and because that they could not suppose that the Chevalier would act, or that those about him would advise him to act, contrary to the sense of all his friends in England.  No time was lost in making the proper use of this paper.  As much of it as was fit to be shown to this Court was translated into French, and laid before the King of France.  I was now able to speak with greater assurance, and in some sort to undertake conditionally for the event of things.

The proposal of violating treaties so lately and so solemnly concluded, was a very bold one to be made to people, whatever their inclinations might be, whom the war had reduced to the lowest ebb of riches and power.  They would not hear of a direct and open engagement, such as the sending a body of troops would have been; neither would they grant the whole of what was asked in the second plan.  But it was impossible for them, or any one else, to foresee how far those steps which they were willing to take, well improved, might have encouraged or forced them to go.  They granted us some succours, and the very ship in which the Pretender was to transport himself was fitted out by Depine d’Anicant at the King of France’s expense.  They would have concealed these appearances as much as they could; but the heat of the Whigs and the resentment of the Court of England might have drawn them in.  We should have been glad indirectly to concur in fixing these things upon them:  and, in a word, if the late King had lived six months longer, I verily believe there had been war again between England and France.  This was the only point of time when these affairs had, to my apprehension, the least reasonable appearance even of possibility:  all that preceded was wild and uncertain:  all that followed was mad and desperate.  But this favourable aspect had an extreme short duration.  Two events soon happened, one of which cast a damp on all we were doing, and the other rendered vain and fruitless all we had done.  The first was the arrival of the Duke of Ormond in France, the other was the death of the King.

We had sounded the duke’s name high.  His reputation and the opinion of his power were great.  The French began to believe that he was able to form and to head a party; that the troops would join him; that the nation would follow the signal whenever he drew his sword; and the voice of the people, the echo of which was continually in their ears, confirmed them in this belief.  But when, in the midst of all these bright ideas, they saw him arrive, almost