[Sidenote: =Altered political ideals, 1660.=] The eighteen months which followed the peace of the Pyrenees form the turning-point of the seventeenth century. Up to that time the ideas and the policy which sprang from the controversies of the sixteenth century had made themselves felt, albeit but dimly. As long as the battle between the Church and Puritanism was being waged in England, as long as Spain with her uncompromising Catholicism was still in the front rank of European states, as long as Sweden, strong in the traditions of Gustavus Adolphus, was still the first power in the north, it was impossible to say that the interest of religious questions had quite ceased to be the dominant interest in European politics. But the years 1660 and 1661 saw a great change, not so much in the motives and ambitions which really actuated nations, as in the men who were called upon to express them in politics. From the peace of the Pyrenees, Spain retired from the arena of politics into a sleep of decay and decline, and ceased to be of importance in the affairs of Europe, until the ill-omened day when were seen gathering round her carcase the eagles of the world prepared for deadly strife. From the Restoration in May 1660, England wholly surrendered any claim to be thought to be guided by moral ideals in her policy at home or abroad, and offered herself to the highest bidder, under the guidance of a king whose sole thought was for his own personal comfort. The peace of Oliva, and the death of Charles X. left Frederick William of Brandenburg the foremost figure in northern Europe, and consecrated by the rewards of success the policy of pure selfishness in its most shameless form. History often has to note how among the contests inspired by religion, liberty and patriotism, there is much of selfish intrigue and personal ambition; how in the most sacred causes the dictates of humanity and of justice are not unfrequently forgotten; and it may well be said, that the spectacle of a Charles II. bartering away his country’s honour to gain for himself immunity from trouble, or of a Frederick William cynically breaking faith with the ally of yesterday because he could obtain more from the ally of to-day, is only more repulsive, because less hypocritical, than the ambition of an Elizabeth or a Philip II., which attempted to conceal itself under nobler ideals. But after all, taking men at their worst, which is always the most untrue of estimates, it is something in international politics, where self-interest must necessarily play so large a part, that its working should be concealed as much as possible, even from those who are actuated by it. Moral conventions are necessary where an agreed standard of moral principle is impossible, and bad faith is as reprehensible in diplomacy as the employment of savages is in war. Those who use them may gain the battle, but at the cost of civilisation.