Queen Anne: The Politics of Passion (88 page)

Within days Oxford’s plan had been transmitted to France, where it was well received by Louis XIV. On 2/13 May, Torcy informed St John that his master had just despatched another messenger to Spain to let Philip know of the deal now on offer, and asking him speedily to signify whether it would be acceptable. Torcy urged that while they awaited Philip’s reply, the Queen should announce a suspension of arms. ‘It would be very unfortunate should any event of the campaign disturb our present good disposition towards the re-establishment of public tranquillity’, he wrote silkily.
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Torcy’s letter arrived in England on the evening of 9 May, and St John and Oxford read it to the Queen the following morning. As Gaultier reported, ‘Her Majesty was so content and satisfied with it that on the spot she commanded Mr St John to despatch a courier to the Duke of Ormonde, with express orders on her part to undertake nothing, neither directly nor indirectly, against the King’s army until new orders came’. However, although the Queen believed that there were compelling reasons to avoid further fighting, she dared not yet declare
an official suspension of arms. Instead, she deemed it preferable to wait until Philip’s answer arrived, telling Oxford she trusted ‘the prospect King Philip had of succeeding to the crown of France would be an inducement … to be easy with that allotment’ of Savoy and Sicily.
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Once that had been settled, the new European order could be made public. If the Duke of Savoy became King of Spain, it would satisfy the parliamentary requirement that the Spanish throne should be kept out of Bourbon hands, and once presented with a
fait accompli
, the Emperor and the Dutch were unlikely to withstand the new arrangements. In the meantime, all that was necessary was to keep the armies of both sides idle.

Accordingly the instructions sent by St John to Ormonde in Anne’s name, ordering him to ‘avoid engaging in any siege or hazarding a battle till you have further orders’, added that ‘the Queen would have you disguise the receipt of this order’. ‘Her Majesty thinks that you cannot want pretences for conducting yourself so as to answer her ends, without owning that which might, at present, have an ill effect, if it was publicly known’, St John wrote airily. The Queen, he explained, ‘cannot think with patience of sacrificing men, when there is a fair prospect of attaining her purpose another way’, being anxious not to endanger ‘a negotiation which might otherwise have been as good as concluded in a few days’. He appended a nonchalant postscript, saying he ‘had almost forgot’ to mention that although these ‘restraining orders’ were to be concealed from the allies, the French had been informed of them.
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In the view of Sir Winston Churchill, ‘Nothing in the history of civilised peoples has surpassed this black treachery’, but Oxford later insisted that ‘her Majesty’s piety’ made her reluctant to tempt ‘that providence that had been so signal in her favour’ by risking unnecessary bloodshed. Besides costing thousands of lives, a military engagement might have turned out badly for the allies. Supposing, however, that the allied forces had won the day (and St John would later comment, ‘I will not say that this [the Restraining Orders] saved [the French] army from being beat, but I think in my conscience that it did’)
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such a victory was unlikely to have brought the war to a speedy conclusion. Impossibly harsh terms would once again have been asked of the enemy, which Louis XIV would have strained every sinew to resist. Even if France had collapsed, Spain would have held out, involving the allies in further messy operations in the Iberian peninsula. In the circumstances the Queen’s preference for a settlement that would bring hostilities to a close in both countries was understandable.

St John would later describe the Restraining Orders as ‘contemptible’, and disclaimed all responsibility for them. He insisted he had been ‘surprised and hurt’ when required to send Ormonde his orders, and regretted that he had not had a chance to protest to the Queen before she went into Cabinet. It was probably true that the idea of the Restraining Orders had not originated with St John, for Oxford kept a tight grip on this phase of the peace process. It may be doubted, however, whether St John was genuinely distressed at having to issue the orders. Certainly he seemed far from pained when Gaultier asked what the French Marshal Villars should do if, despite being held back by Ormonde, Prince Eugene (who had been put in command of the Dutch forces) made an attempt against the enemy. St John answered smoothly that Villars could ‘do nothing other than fall on him and cut him and all his army to pieces’.
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When on trial for his life in the next reign, Oxford too would disavow the Restraining Orders, declining to ‘admit that he did advise or consent’ to them.
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It is, however, frankly incredible that the Queen devised the policy entirely on her own and implemented it without Oxford’s approval. Either she acceded to Oxford’s plans, or they concocted the scheme jointly. At any rate, the two of them must share any ignominy arising from it.

In the allied camp at Solesmes, the Duke of Ormonde was deeply embarrassed by his awkward situation. Prince Eugene kept pressing him to join in an attack upon the enemy, and would later claim that ‘the best opportunity of beating the French army that could be wished for’ had been missed. Ormonde gave a succession of excuses which appeared flimsier every day, until on 17/28 May he came close to admitting to a council of war that he had been ordered to do nothing. By 22 May news of this ‘unactive and lazy campaign’ had reached England, prompting Richard Hampden to complain in the House of Commons that the country was being ‘amused by our ministers at home and tricked by our enemies abroad’. Taking ‘his old shelter under the royal authority’, St John retorted that such allegations were insulting to the Queen.
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On 22 May/2 June the States General protested to Bishop Robinson, one of the British plenipotentiaries at Utrecht, at the lack of support provided by Ormonde. To their astonishment Robinson responded that because of their failure ‘to enter with her upon a plan of peace, their High Mightinesses … ought not to be surprised that her Majesty did now think herself at liberty to enter into separate measures in order to obtain a peace for her own conveniency’.
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By 25 May a protest from the
States General had been handed to the Queen. Greatly to her chagrin, and in defiance of diplomatic convention, it was printed the next day in the Whig newspaper,
The Flying Post
.

On 27 May the Duke of Marlborough and some other Whigs (including, one may be sure, the Earl of Sunderland) came to see the Hanoverian Resident in London, Kreienberg. They told him that since ‘the mask had been taken off, there was no more time to lose, but it was necessary to take the task in hand … and … execute the great project’. What they wanted was nothing less than an invasion of England led by the Elector of Hanover with naval support from Holland. They claimed that such urgent action was essential because ‘a thousand particulars positively confirmed … that the Prince of Wales was going to declare himself a Protestant’. Unless stopped, they said, he would be in England or Scotland ‘within six weeks or two months’.
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That afternoon the Whigs gave notice that they would mount a parliamentary attack on the ministry the following day, hoping that if votes in both Houses went against the government, ‘Lord Treasurer would be sent to the Tower’. Thus forewarned, Oxford ‘made … many nocturnal visits’ in a desperate effort to ensure his survival. When the debate opened in the Commons on 28 May, the large Tory majority rallied to the ministry by expressing confidence in the Queen’s promise to communicate peace terms to them before they were finalised.

In the Lords Oxford had a much tougher time, for, notwithstanding the creation of the dozen peers the previous year, the ministry’s control of the Upper House remained precarious. After speaking of the ‘necessity of carrying on the war with vigour’ Lord Halifax demanded that Ormonde should be ordered to act offensively with the allies. When several peers wanted to know whether it was true that Restraining Orders had been sent to Ormonde, Oxford said it was not fit to divulge such matters without the Queen’s permission. However, he admitted that Ormonde had not deviated from his instructions and stated ‘it was prudence not to hazard a battle upon the point of concluding a good peace’. Clearly flustered, he maintained that although Ormonde might have avoided a general action, he was empowered to join with the allies in conducting a siege. In fact, the original Restraining Orders sent on 10 May had prohibited him from doing such a thing, but the day before the debate took place, new instructions had been drawn up to permit this.
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The Duke of Marlborough rose to say he could not understand Oxford’s statement, as it was impossible to engage in a siege without risking a battle. The truth was that when Ormonde’s orders had been
modified, he was instructed to send word to the French Marshal Villars that he would be assisting Eugene by covering the siege of Quesnoy. In view of the fact that within a few days an answer would come from Spain that would clarify the situation, Ormonde was required to request Villars not to attack any of the allied troops involved.
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Rather than answering Marlborough directly, Oxford announced that ‘in a few days her Majesty … would lay before her parliament the [peace] conditions, which he doubted not would give entire satisfaction to every member of that House and to all true Englishmen’. When some lords expressed fears that a separate treaty was on the verge of being concluded, Oxford was adamant that ‘nothing of that nature was ever intended; and that such a peace would be so base, so knavish and so villainous a thing that every one who served the Queen knew they must answer it with their heads to the nation’. He asserted untruthfully that the allies knew what was projected ‘and were satisfied with it’.
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Oxford’s bold performance was effective, and when a vote was taken the ministry won by a comfortable majority. Yet to achieve this result, he had uttered several falsehoods, and Tories such as Swift considered it had been ‘a wrong step … to open himself so much’.
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Oxford was nevertheless confident that once news came from Spain that Philip V was giving up his throne, his own words to Parliament would not be too closely scrutinised. Unluckily for the Lord Treasurer, on the very day of his parliamentary triumph a message from Philip arrived in France, declaring his readiness to relinquish his rights to the French crown so as to remain King of Spain.

The news of Philip’s decision can only have come as the most ghastly shock for the Queen and Lord Treasurer. Instead of a settlement that could be rapidly perfected and carried by acclaim, it was clear that complicated negotiations lay ahead to ensure that Philip’s renunciation was binding. There could be no certainty that at the end of that process the allies would approve these terms. Nevertheless Oxford and Anne were now so ‘fast tangled’ with France that their only option was to ‘set a good face upon it’. On 6 June St John sent new proposals to France. If the town of Dunkirk was handed over to the Duke of Ormonde, the Queen would agree to a suspension of arms against France for at least two months. During that period, endeavours would be made to conclude a general peace, and Philip of Spain must ‘renounce, in all due forms, the crown of France’. Before Dunkirk was returned to the French, its fortifications would have to be destroyed. If these terms were rejected, Ormonde would be instructed to resume warlike activity.
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Because Oxford had committed the Queen to revealing more details about the peace, earlier that day she had gone to the House of Lords to outline the terms she believed could be secured from France. Although they fell short of the objectives previously laid down, she tried to present them in as attractive a light as possible. She did not mention that a suspension of arms was imminent, dwelling instead on the advantages her kingdom had obtained for itself. For the first time she disclosed that Gibraltar, Port Mahon and the Asiento were to be awarded to Great Britain, and she also laid great stress on having safeguarded the Protestant succession by ensuring that the Pretender would be expelled from France. She hoped this would reconcile people to Spain remaining in Bourbon hands, as she effectively admitted was likely to happen. To sweeten the pill she explained that Philip would renounce his claim to the French crown, reminding her listeners that keeping France and Spain separated had been ‘the chief inducement to begin this war’. She also acknowledged that the Dutch were unlikely to be granted such an extensive barrier as had earlier been envisaged, but insisted they would have to give up ‘two or three places at most’.
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Mindful of the need to prop up the ministry, Tories in the Commons rejected a Whig demand for a debate. Instead an address of thanks was voted, expressing confidence that the Queen would obtain the best peace terms possible. In the Lords, ‘things went not altogether so smoothly’. A bitter debate took place on 7 June, in which leading Whigs savagely denounced government policy. Lord Cowper said it was madness to think that France would abide by the terms of Philip’s renunciation, and the Duke of Marlborough spoke in still stronger terms. He fulminated that the ‘measures pursued in England for a year past were directly contrary to her Majesty’s engagements with the allies, sullied the triumphs and glories of her reign and would render the English name odious to all other nations’. However, when a vote was taken, it proved impossible to persuade a majority of this. The outnumbered Whigs issued a protest, describing the French peace offers as ‘fallacious’, ‘ensnaring’ and ‘insufficient’, but by order of the House this was expunged from the records.
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