Once on the throne, James moved quickly to change the balance of political forces in England. His first objective was simply to remove the restrictions placed on English Catholics by the strongly anti-Catholic Protestant majority. Increasingly, however, Catholics were promoted into key positions. Catholic governors were installed in the Channel ports and a Catholic admiral was given command of the Channel fleet. Although Protestant anxiety and opposition mounted swiftly, one important fact stifled overt action: James had no son, and his two daughters, Mary and Anne, were both Protestants. English Protestants, thus, were prepared to await James' death and Mary's succession. And Mary's husband, who would suceed with her to the throne, was William of Orange. William's title to rule came only partially from his status as Mary's husband; in his own right he was also, as the only nephew of both King Charles II and King James II, the next heir after Mary and Anne.
William did not dislike his uncle, but he deeply feared the presence of a Catholic monarch on the English throne, with its implications of an alignment of Catholic France and Catholic England against Protestant Holland. Nevertheless, he, too, was prepared to wait for James to die and his own wife, Mary, to come to the throne. But on June 20, 1688, James' Queen, Mary of Modena, produced a son. The Catholic King had a Catholic heir. This challenge flung down before the Protestants of England turned them immediately to William. Although what happened next was seen by James' supporters (who came to be called Jacobites) as a stroke of monstrous ambition by a ruthless nephew and son-in-law usurping the throne of England, the motive for William's action had almost nothing to do with England and everything to do with France and Europe. It was not that William wanted to be King of England or cared about preserving the liberties of Englishmen or the rights of Parliament; what he wanted was to keep England in the Protestant camp.
The invitation to William to replace his uncle on the English throne was sent to William by seven of the most respected Protestants leaders in England, including both Whigs and Tories. Obtaining the support and permission of the States General of Holland, William embarked a Dutch army of 12,000 men on 200 merchant vessels escorted by 49 warships, almost the entire Dutch fleet. Slipping past the watching English and French fleets, he landed at Torbay on the Devonshire coast. He came ashore behind a banner carrying the ancient creed of the House of Orange, "Je maintiendrai" ("I shall maintain"), to which William had added the words: "the liberties of England and the Protestant religion."
James sent his most skilled military commander and his intimate personal friend, John Churchill, then Earl of Marlborough, to confront William's army, but Marlborough, himself a Protestant, promptly defected to the invaders. So did James' other daughter, Princess Anne, along with her husband, Prince George of Denmark. This broke the King's spirit. Crying, "God help me! Even my own children have deserted me!" he fled unshaven from London, throwing the Great Seal into the river as he crossed the
Thames and embarked for France. There, in the chateau of St. Germain-en-Laye, where he now lies buried, the proud and obstinate monarch lived for thirteen years as a pensioner of Louis. He kept a shadow court and a handful of Irish Guards, all dependent for their daily bread on Louis, whose vanity was gratified by the presence at his feet of a suppliant exiled monarch.
Mary's position in the quarrel between her father and her husband was painful, but, as a Protestant and a wife, she supported William. When she arrived in England, she quickly rejected proposals that she become the sole monarch to the exclusion of her husband. William and Mary were proclaimed joint sovereigns by a Parliament which, in turn, extracted from them a Bill of Rights and other privileges which are today the centerpieces of the British constitution.
Ironically, although the events of 1688 marked an overwhelming change in the political and constitutional history of England, and are referred to as the Glorious Revolution, William did not much care about them. He acquiesced in whatever Parliament asked, in order to keep its support for the struggle in Europe. He left domestic policy in the hands of others while striving to control England's foreign policy himself, coordinating it with Dutch policy and even merging the Dutch and English diplomatic services to act as one. His foreign policy was, simply, war with France, and in taking William, England also took his war. In essence, a trade had been made: Parliament accepted William's war in order to protect the Protestant religion and assert its supremacy; William accepted Parliament's supremacy in order to keep England's support in fighting Louis.
William did not feel at home among the islanders. He hated the English weather, which aggravated his asthma, and he disliked the English people: "I am sure that this people has not been made for me, nor J for it." He longed for Holland. In 1692, when The Hague was holding its annual fair, he sighed, "I wish I were a bird and could fly over." On another occasion, he spoke of Holland, "for which I am longing as a fish for water."
And the English heartily returned William's dislike. They commented on his unsociability, his silence and his surliness toward his English subjects, as well as on his distaste for their habits, their traditions, their parties and politics, and for London. But although he took the witty Elizabeth Villiers as his mistress, Queen Mary remained devoted to him, ruling England in his behalf whenever he was absent from the realm and retiring from politics completely whenever he returned. When she died of smallpox at the age of thirty-two, William mourned her bitterly. He continued on as sole monarch, a childless, lonely man whose heir was Mary's sister, Princess Anne. The French, ever ready to believe the worst of the strange little man who so desperately opposed them, spread rumors that he was in love with the Earl of Albemarle.
What William most disliked about the English was what he regarded as their naive disregard of their own long-term interests and their selfish lack of concern about what happened to Europe; in other words, their wavering commitment to his great cause. As King of England, he bound English interests to the Dutch, but he did not subordinate the one to the other. Instead, as leader of the coalition of Europe, he took an overall view of his role. He began to speak of Europe as an entity, and in his correspondence the objective became "the general interest of Europe."
Predictably, within two years of William's coronation, England was at war with France. The war lasted nine years, the result was inconclusive and the Treaty of Ryswick, being drawn up at The Hague in 1697 at the moment of Peter's visit to Holland, altered no boundaries, although by its terms Louis finally recognized William as King of England. Thereafter, in a brief interlude of peace, Louis and William even worked together to head off the international crisis which would inevitably be precipitated when the feeble King of Spain, Carlos II, died without an heir. The agreed solution was partition, but Carlos upset their plans by leaving his kingdom and empire to Louis's grandson, and the Sun King tore up his treaty with William. William, naturally, refused to accept this merger of the territory and power of France and Spain, and tirelessly began once again to assemble an anti-French coalition.
The great war which followed, called the War of the Spanish Succession, lasted eleven years and marked the dividing line between seventeenth-century and eighteenth-century Europe. In immediate terms, the war was won and William's goal achieved: France was held within its boundaries, Holland preserved its freedom and the Protestant religion was maintained in Europe. But William did not live to see it. In the spring of 1702, on the eve of his declaration of war, the King went for a ride on Sorrel, his favorite horse, in the park at Hampton Court. The horse stumbled, pitching William out of the saddle, breaking his collarbone. At first, the accident did not seem serious, but William, at fifty, was exhausted. His eyes were deeply sunken, his asthmatic cough never stopped. His emaciated body lacked the strength to resist, and on March 19, 1702, he died.
It was Peter's good fortune that William happened to be in Holland when the Great Embassy arrived. Ever since the Tsar's adolescence, William had been his foremost hero among Western leaders. Through the long evenings in the German Suburb, talking with Ho
llanders, Germans and other foreigners, most of them adherents to William's Protestant, anti-French cause, Peter had listened to innumerable tales about the dauntless, skillful and persistent Dutchman. In 1691, at Pereslavl, he had ordered the cannon of his ships on the lake fired in salute when he heard of the English and Dutch victory over the French fleet at La Hogue. Predisposed to value all things Dutch, wanting to learn the secrets of Dutch shipwrights, hoping to enlist Dutch help in his war against the Turks, Peter was eager to meet the King and Stadholder whom he so admired.
Their first encounter took place at Utrecht, Peter being escorted there by Witsen and Lefort. The meeting was completely private and informal, as both monarchs always preferred. They were an unlikely pair: the small, coldly disciplined Dutchman with his bent back and asthmatic wheeze, and the towering, youthful, impulsive Russian. Peter's proposal that William join him in a Christian alliance against the Turks drew no response. William, although negotiating peace with France, wanted no major war in the East which could distract and divert his Austrian ally and tempt Louis XIV to renew his adventures in the West. In any case, Peter's appeal was to be officially delivered not by himself to William, but by the Russian ambassadors to the formal rulers of Holland, Their High Mightinesses the States General, who sat in the national capital, The Hague. It was to them that the Great Embassy would present its credentials and state its business, and Peter took this event extremely seriously. As Russia had no permanent ambassadors or embassies abroad, the arrival of this large delegation headed by three leading men of the Russian state (even apart from the unacknowledged presence of the sovereign) and the manner of its reception were matters of great importance to Peter. He was eager that the Embassy's debut be auspicious, and for this purpose Ryswick provided an excellent stage. The most celebrated statesmen and diplomats of all the major European powers were present to conduct or oversee the crucial peace negotiations; anything that happened in Ryswick would be carefully noted and reported back to every capital and monarch in Europe.
The Russian ambassadors fussed for days in Amsterdam preparing themselves for their audience. They ordered three magnificent state carriages, new wardrobes for themselves and new liveries for their servants. Meanwhile, in The Hague, two hotels were readied for them and stocked with large quantities of wine and food. As the Embassy prepared, Peter told Witsen that he wanted to accompany his ambassadors incognito to observe how they were received. This request was difficult for Witsen to comply with, but even harderto refuse. Peter went along in one of the lesser carriages, insisting that his favorite dwarf accompany him even though the coach was crowded. "Very well," he said, "then I'll put him on my knees." All along the road from Amsterdam to The Hague, Peter kept seeing new things. Passing a mill, Peter asked, "What is this for?" Told it was a mill to cut stones, he declared, "I want to see it." The carriage stopped, but the mill was locked. Even at night, crossing a bridge, Peter wanted to study its construction and take measurements. The carriage stopped again, lanterns were brought and the Tsar measured the bridge's length and width. He was measuring the depth of its pontoons when the wind blew out the lights.
At The Hague, Peter was taken to the Hotel Amsterdam, where he was shown a beautiful room with a luxurious bed. He rejected both, choosing instead a small room at the top of the hotel with a simple camp bed. A few minutes later, however, he decided that he wanted to be with his ambassadors. It was after midnight, but he insisted that the horses be put back in the carriage and driven to the Hotel des Doelens. Here, again, he was shown a handsome apartment which did not please him and he went in search of his own accommodations. Spotting one of the Embassy servants fast asleep on a bearskin, Peter pushed him with his feet, saying, "Come on, come on, get up!" The servant rolled over, growling. Peter kicked him a second time, crying, "Quickly, quickly, I want to sleep there." This time, the servant understood and leaped to his feet. Peter threw himself on the warm bearskin and went to sleep.
On the day the ambassadors were received by the States General, Peter was dressed in European style as a gentleman on the court. He wore a blue suit with gold ornaments, a blond wig and a hat with white plumes. Witsen ushered him into a chamber next to the hall in which the reception would take place; through a window, Peter was able to observe and hear everything. There he stood and waited for the ambassadors to appear. "They are late," he complained. His impatience grew as he saw everyone turning constantly to look at him and heard the growing buzz of excitement as whispers passed that the Tsar was in the next room. He wanted to escape, but could not without crossing the crowded audience hall. Distraught, he asked Witsen to command the members of the States General to turn their head away in order not to see him as he crossed. Witsen told him that he could not command these gentlemen who were the sovereign in Holland, but that he would ask them. They replied that they would be willing to rise in the presence of the Tsar but would not consent to turn their backs. On hearing this, Peter covered his face with his wig and walked rapidly across the hall into the vestibule and down the stairs.
A few minutes later, the ambassadors arrived in the hall and the audience took place. Lefort made a speech in Russian which was translated into French, and presented Their High Mightinesses with a large collection of sables. Lefort, who wore European clothes in Moscow, was dressed for the occasion in Muscovite robes of cloth of gold, bordered with furs. His hat and sword sparkled with diamonds. Golovin and Voznitsyn were dressed in black satin sewn with gold, pearls and diamonds; on their breasts they wore medallions enclosing a portrait of the Tsar, and their shoulders were covered with a gold embroidery of the double eagle. The ambassadors made a good impression, the Russian costumes were much admired and everyone talked about the Tsar.
While in The Hague, Peter maintained his official incognito, meeting privately with Dutch statesmen but refusing any public recognition. He attended a banquet for the diplomatic corps, sitting next to Witsen. He continued to meet privately with William, although no record of their conversations has remained. Finally, satisfied with the reception of his ambassadors and leaving them to conduct the actual negotiations with the States General, he returned to his work in the shipyard at Amsterdam. The Embassy had limited success. The Dutch were not interested in a crusade against the Turks, and because of the debts piled up from their war against France and the need to rebuild their own navy, they rejected the Russian request for help in building and arming seventy warships and more than one hundred galleys for use on the Black Sea.
During the autumn, often escorted by Witsen, Peter made frequent excursions by carriage across the flat Dutch countryside. Rolling along through regions once at the bottom of a shallow sea, he looked out at a landscape dotted with windmills and brick church spires, meadows filled with grazing cows, and little brick towns with brick streets. The rivers and canals packed with boats and barges were a delight for Peter. Often, when the water was hidden by the flatness of the landscape, it seemed as if the brown sails and masts were moving independently across the wide fields.
Aboard a ptate yacht, Witsen took Peter to the island of Texel on the North Sea coast to watch the return of the Greenland whaling fleet. The place was remote, with long, rolling dunes and scrub trees growing at the edge of the white sand. In the harbor, Peter boarded one of the sturdy, three-masted vessels, examined everything and asked many questions about whales. To demonstrate, the whaler lowered a whaleboat and the crew demonstrated attacking a whale with a harpoon. Peter marveled at their precision and coordination. Then, although the ship reeked of whale blubber, the Tsar descended below-decks to see the rooms where the whales were butchered and the blubber was boiled for its precious oil.
Several times, Peter returned quietly to Zaandam to visit his comrades who were still working there. Menshikov was learning to make masts, Naryshkin was learning navigation, Golovkin and Kurakin were working on hull construction. Usually, he traveled there by water, or went sailing during his visit. Once, when he was sailing during a storm against advice, his boat
capsized. Peter clambered out and patiently sat on the upturned bottom, waiting to be rescued.
Although his privacy was protected as long as he worked on the docks, it was impossible to isolate him when he sailed on the Ij. Small boats filled with curious people regularly tried to accost him. This always made Peter angry. Once, at the urging of several lady passengers, the captain of a mail boat tried to draw alongside Peter's craft. In a fury, Peter threw two empty bottles at the captain's head. He missed, but the mail boat reversed course and left him alone.
Early in his visit, Peter met the leading Dutch admiral of the day, Gilles Schey, a pupil of de Ruyter's. It was Schey who offered him the most striking and agreeable spectacle of his visit: a great sham naval battle on the Ij. The boat owners in northern Holland were invited to attend, and cannon were placed on all the craft able to carry them. Companies of volunteer soldiers were distributed among the decks and riggings of the larger boats, charged to simulate the fire of musketeers during the battle. On a Sunday morning, under a cloudless sky with a fresh wind, hundreds of boats assembled along the edge of a dike lined with thousands of spectators. Peter and members of his Embassy boarded the grand yacht of the East India Company and sailed toward the two fleets already ranged in opposing lines of battle. After a salute to the guest, the battle began. First, the two lines of ships fired salvos at each other, then a number of individual ship-to-ship engagements commenced. The battle, with its advance and retreat, its grappling and boarding, its smoke and noise, pleased the Tsar so much that he made his own ship steer for the place of hottest action. With the cannon thundering continually so that no one could hear, "the Tsar was in a state of rapture difficult to describe." In the afternoon, a number of collisions forced the Admiral to signal both sides to break off the action.