The treaty of Nimwegen is often looked upon as the summit of the success of Louis XIV., the pinnacle of his glory. It is rather the first step in his decline, for it marks the limits of his power. He had made deliberately a bid for supremacy over Europe, and he had failed. He had determined on an act of signal vengeance upon the petty nation which had dared to thwart his will, and he had been baffled. But this was not all. Not only was his failure one of fact, but it was one of policy. He had failed in a way which made it certain that he would fail again, if he made a similar attempt. However carefully laid his plans, however skilfully conceived his campaigns, however brilliantly led his armies, he could not fight single-handed against Europe; and Europe was as certain to combine sooner or later against him, if he continued his policy of universal dominion, as the tides were certain to ebb and to flow. The selfishness of a Charles II., the ambition of a bishop of Münster, the greediness of a Swedish oligarchy, the poverty of a Polish nobility, the cunning inertness of a Leopold might enable him to purchase alliance and secure neutrality until the storm-cloud actually burst, until the danger of a French tyranny became instant and menacing. But in the end the web of diplomacy, however deftly woven, was certain to be torn into fragments before the rude shock of the spirit of nationality and the love of independence. De Witt with his policy of the Triple Alliance had shown Europe how the monster might be bridled, and Europe did not forget the lesson. Interests rival to those of France were too numerous, too varied, too deep-seated in national character, to be for long obscured by the arts of diplomacy, or quieted by the alliance of governments. The principle of the balance of power was certain to assert itself sooner or later, and as long as Louis persisted in an attempt to make himself dictator of Europe, whether by the conquest of the maritime powers, or by the annexation of the dominions of Spain, or by the disintegration of Germany and Austria, so long would Europe combine against him and prevent that dictatorship from becoming an accomplished fact. Unfortunately, like Napoleon after him, Louis could not bring himself to acknowledge the permanent limits of his power. He could not understand that he had embarked on a policy impossible in the very nature of things. He looked upon Nimwegen as he had looked upon Aix-la-Chapelle, merely as a check in the game which he was playing. He knew he had made some mistakes in his play. A fresh combination of pieces directed by a riper experience could not fail to succeed. So, like the gambler, who, convinced of the infallibility of his system, attributes his losses to mere errors of calculation which experience and care must detect, Louis, in no wise disconcerted by the failure of Nimwegen, began with increased assiduity to weave his plots and repair his errors, so that he might again be ready to assert his