Louis XIV. assembled his council, the same which, in 1700, had decided upon acceptance of the crown of Spain. “The king felt all these calamities so much the more keenly,” says Torcy, “in that he had experienced nothing of the sort ever since he had taken into his own hands the government of a flourishing kingdom. It was a terrible humiliation for a monarch accustomed to conquer, belauded for his victories, his triumphs, his moderation when he granted peace and prescribed its laws, to see himself now obliged to ask it of his enemies, to offer them to no purpose, in order to obtain it, the restitution of a portion of his conquests, the monarchy of Spain, the abandonment of his allies, and forced, in order to get such offers accepted, to apply to that same republic whose principal provinces he had conquered in the year 1692, and whose submission he had rejected when she entreated him to grant her peace on such terms as he should be pleased to dictate. The king bore so sensible a change with the firmness of a hero, and with a Christian’s complete submission to the decrees of Providence, being less affected by his own inward pangs than by the suffering of his people, and being ever concerned about the means of relieving it, and terminating the war. It was scarcely perceived that he did himself some violence in order to conceal his own feelings from the public; indeed; they were so little known that it was pretty generally believed that, thinking more of his own glory than of the woes of his kingdom, he preferred to the blessing of peace the keeping of certain places he had taken in person. This unjust opinion had crept in even amongst the council.”
The reading of the Dutch proposals tore away every veil; “the necessity of obtaining peace, whatever price it might cost, was felt so much the more.” The king gave orders to Rouille to resume the conferences, demanding clear and precise explanations. “If the worst comes to the worst,” said he, “I will give up Lille to the Hollanders, Strasburg dismantled to the Empire, and I will content myself with Naples without Sicily for my grandson. You will be astounded at the orders contained in this despatch, so different from those that I have given you hitherto, and that I considered, as it was, too liberal, but I have always submitted to the divine will, and the evils with which He is pleased to afflict my kingdom do not permit me any longer to doubt of the sacrifice He requires me to make to Him of all that might touch me most nearly. I waive, therefore, my glory.” The Marquis of Torcy, secretary of state for foreign affairs, followed close after the despatch; he had offered the king to go and treat personally with Heinsius.
“The grand pensionary appeared surprised when he heard that his Majesty was sending one of his ministers to Holland. He had been placed at that post by the Prince of Orange, who put entire confidence in him. Heinsius had not long before been sent to France to confer with Louvois, and, in the discharge of that commission, he had experienced the bad temper of a minister more accustomed to speak harshly to military officers than to treat with foreigners; he had not forgotten that the minister had threatened to have him put in the Bastille. Consummate master of affairs, of which he had a long experience, he was the soul of the league with Prince Eugene and the Duke of Marlborough; but the pensionary was not accused either of being so much in love with the importance given him by continuance of the war as to desire its prolongation or of any personally interested view. His externals were simple, there was no ostentation in his household; his address was cold without any sort of rudeness, his conversation was polished, he rarely grew warm in discussion.” Torcy could not obtain anything from Heinsius, any more than from Marlborough and Prince Eugene, who had both arrived at the Hague: the prince remained cold and stern; he had not forgotten the king’s behavior towards his house. “That’s a splendid post in France, that of colonel general,” said he one day; “my father held it; at his death we hoped that my brother might get it; the king thought it better to give it to one of his, natural sons. He is master, but all the same is one not sorry sometimes to find one’s self in a position to make slights repented of.” “Marlborough displayed courtesy, insisting upon seeing in the affairs of the coalition the finger of God, who had permitted eight nations to think and act like one man.” The concessions extorted from France were no longer sufficient: M. de Torcy gave up Sicily, and then Naples; a demand was made for Elsass, and certain places in Dauphiny and Provence; lastly, the allies required that the conditions of peace should be carried out at short notice, during the two months’ truce it was agreed to grant, and that Louis XIV. should forthwith put into the hands of the Hollanders three places by way of guarantee, in case Philip V. should refuse to abdicate. This was to despoil himself prematurely and gratuitously, for it was impossible to execute the definitive treaty of peace at the time fixed. “The king did not hesitate about the only course there was for him to take, not only for his own glory, but for the welfare of his kingdom,” says Torcy; he recalled his envoys, and wrote to the governors of the provinces and towns,—
“Sir: The hope of an imminent peace was so generally diffused throughout my kingdom, that I consider it due to the fidelity which my people have shown during the course of my reign to give them the consolation of informing them of the reasons which still prevent them from enjoying the repose I had intended to procure for them. I would, to restore it, have accepted conditions much opposed to the security of my frontier provinces; but the more readiness and desire I displayed to dissipate the suspicions which my enemies affect to retain of my power and my designs, the more did they multiply their pretensions, refusing to enter into any undertaking beyond putting a stop to all acts of hostility until the first of the month of August, reserving to themselves the liberty of then acting by way of arms if the King of Spain, my grandson, persisted in his resolution to defend the crown which God has given him; such a suspension was more dangerous than war for my people, for it secured to the enemy more important advantages than they could hope for from their troops. As I place my trust in the protection of God, and hope that the purity of my intentions will bring down His blessing on my arms, I wish my people to know that they would enjoy peace if it had depended only on my will to procure them a boon which they reasonably, desire, but which must be won by fresh efforts, since the immense conditions I would have granted are useless for the restoration of the public peace.
“Signed: Louis.”
In spite of all the mistakes due to his past arrogance, the king had a right to make use of such language. In their short-sighted resentment the allies had overstepped reason. The young King of Spain felt this when he wrote to his grandfather, “I am transfixed at the chimerical and insolent pretensions of the English and Dutch regarding the preliminaries of peace; never were seen the like. I am beside myself at the idea that anybody could have so much as supposed that I should be forced to leave Spain as long as I have a drop of blood in my veins. I will use all my efforts to maintain myself upon a throne on which God has placed me, and on which you, after Him, have set me, and nothing but death shall wrench me from it or make me yield it.” War re-commenced on all sides. The king had just consented at last to give Chamillard his discharge. “Sir, I shall die over the job,” had for a long time been the complaint of the minister worn out with fatigue. “Ah! well, we will die together,” had been the king’s rejoinder.
France was dying, and Chamillard was by no means a stranger to the cause. Louis XIV. put in his place Voysin, former superintendent of Hainault, entirely devoted to Madame de Maintenon. He loaded with benefits the minister from whom he was parting, the only one whom he had really loved. The troops were destitute of everything. On assuming the command of the army of the Low Countries, Villars wrote in despair, “Imagine the horror of seeing an army without bread! There was none delivered to-day until the evening, and very late. Yesterday, to have bread to serve out to the brigades I had ordered to march, I made those fast that remained behind. On these occasions I pass along the ranks, I coax the soldier, I speak to him in such a way as to make him have patience, and I have had the consolation of hearing several of them say, ‘The marshal is quite right; we must suffer sometimes.’ ‘Panem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie’ (give us this day our daily bread), the men say to me as I go through the ranks; it is a miracle how we subsist, and it is a marvel to see the steadiness and fortitude of the soldier in enduring hunger; habit is everything; I fancy, however, that the habit of not eating is not easy to acquire.”
In spite of such privations and sufferings, Villars found the army in excellent spirits, and urged the king to permit him to give battle. “M. de Turenne used to say that he who means to altogether avoid battle gives up his country to him who appears to seek it,” the marshal assured him; the king was afraid of losing his last army; the Dukes of Harcourt and Berwick were covering the Rhine and the Alps; Marlborough and Prince Eugene, who had just made themselves masters of Tournay, marched against Villars, whom they encountered on the 11th of September, 1709, near the hamlet of Malplaquet. Marshal Boufflers had just reached the army to serve as a volunteer. Villars had intrenched himself in front of the woods; his men were so anxious to get under fire, that they threw away the rations of bread just served out; the allies looked sulkily at the works. “We are going to fight moles again,” they said.
There was a thick fog, as at Lutzen; the fighting went on from seven in the morning till midday. Villars had yielded the right wing, by way of respect, to Bouffiers as his senior, says the allies’ account, but the general command nevertheless devolved entirely upon him. “At the hottest of the engagement, the marshal galloped furiously to the centre attacked by Prince Eugene. It was a sort of jaws of hell, a pit of fire, sulphur, and saltpetre, which it seemed impossible to approach and live. One shot and my horse fell,” says Villars. “I jumped up, and a second broke my knee; I had it bandaged on the spot, and myself placed in a chair to continue giving my orders, but the pain caused a fainting-fit which lasted long enough for me to be carried off without consciousness to Quesnoy.” The Prince of Hesse, with the imperial cavalry, had just turned the intrenchments, which the Dutch infantry had attacked to no purpose; Marshal Boufflers was obliged to order a retreat, which was executed as on parade. “The allies had lost more than twenty thousand men,” according to their official account. “It was too much for this victory, which did not entail the advantage of entirely defeating the enemy, and the whole fruits of which were to end with the taking of Mons.” Always a braggart, in spite of his real courage and indisputable military talent, Villars wrote from his bed to the king, on sending him the flags taken from the enemy, “If God give us grace to lose such another battle, your Majesty may reckon that your enemies are annihilated.” Boufflers was more proud, and at the same time more modest, when he said, “The series of disasters that have for some years past befallen your Majesty’s arms, had so humiliated the French nation that one scarcer dared avow one’s self a Frenchman. I dare assure you, sir, that the French name was never in so great esteem, and was never perhaps more feared, than it is at present in the army of the allies.”