There are few royal births that have not been the object of malevolent insinuations, and often of very plain accusations of criminal fraud. Such an event almost always destroys the right of some collateral heir, who has perhaps long coveted the crown. Sometimes even it ruins the projects of a whole party; and whilst it confirms the position of some, it suddenly throws down a hundred ambitions, and exposes those who are disappointed in their expectations to the temptation of gainsaying that which destroys their hopes. When, on June 21, 1688, Marie d’Este, second wife of James II., rendered him the father of a son,[95] William of Orange, then long married to the Princess Mary, the eldest daughter of the King of England, seeing his wife’s rights annihilated by this unexpected birth, refused to admit as real an event so fatal to him. He caused accusatory libels to be spread throughout Holland, and even in England,[96] in which it was represented that the Queen’s pregnancy was feigned, that the birth was imaginary, and that an unknown child, picked up at hazard, had been furtively introduced into the bed of its pretended mother.[97] Several English writers, and, at their head, the ardent Burnet, welcomed this opinion, and the scandal which they raised contributed, some months afterwards, to the success of the attempt made by William of Orange to seize on the throne at the very moment when he seemed to have been excluded from it for ever. In France, doubts of this nature being rendered still more easy by the sceptical and fault-finding spirit of the nation, care has been taken at all times to avoid even a pretext for them, by infinite precautions and excellent customs. Not only had the birth of a prince the greatest personages of the State for obligatory witnesses, but the people themselves were also invited to be present at the advent to life of him whom a very old tradition happily designates as the Child of France. The doors were opened to the public, who penetrated freely into the royal dwelling at the solemn moment when the family of their rulers was perpetuated. They also entered there on certain occasions when the King allowed himself to be seen at table by his subjects. These two privileges were the only ones granted to them at that time, and, reasonably enough, they were not disposed to rest content with them for ever. The first, however, at least, offered the advantage of making them forget for an instant that they were nothing, and of associating them in some way with the greatest event connected with the reigning family. When Marie Antoinette gave birth to her first child, the concourse of people in her chamber was such that Louis XVI. broke a window to give air more quickly to the Queen, who was on the point of losing consciousness. From that day the people ceased to be admitted to the birth of the King’s children. But long before Louis XIV. came into the world, nothing was neglected that could give the greatest