"…to the little gentleman in the black velvet waistcoat."
Today marks the death in 1702 of William III, perhaps better known at William of Orange, the Dutch prince who overthrew James II in 1688, the event which became known as The Glorious Revolution and makes a nonsense of the oft-touted claim that 1066 was the last time England was successfully invaded. Thus Protestantism was secured in the kingdom. William was married to James’s own daughter Mary, a staunch Protestant and willing collaborator in her father’s downfall. The couple were childless, so William’s sister-in-law Anne succeeded him, also on this day in 1702.
William died at Kensington Palace where he had moved the royal household to escape swampy Westminster, which was bad for his asthma. His demise was the direct result of a fall from his horse which stumbled on a molehill, throwing its royal rider. There is an equestrian statue of William in classical garb in St James’s Square. The molehill is included in the work, directly in front of the steed’s rear left hoof. This is why, for many years afterwards, his Jacobite enemies would raise their glasses and toast “the little gentleman in the black velvet waistcoat”.
Also to pass the glass port over water in so doing toast the king over the water. Reason why all is removed before the toast.
I can’t remember whose book I read it in – possibly David Niven – that certain officers, usually in Scottish regiments – were still doing this in the 20th Century.
Yes some do but he was in the Rifle Bde to start with. His book was The Moon is a Ballon.
This is a good reminder that our history, far from being a logical succession of events, often came about purely by chance. Think for example, if the arrow had missed Harold’s eye, if the battle of Waterloo had gone as it “ought to” have gone or if a certain Bessie Wallis Warfield had died young.
We can explain the past but not predict the future.
Indeed. But in this case, I don’t think it would have made any difference. He was succeeded by fat gouty Anne who might have had LOADS of kids, but tragically suffered 13 miscarriages with another 5 survivors all dying extremely young. Then we’re on to George I who was 58th in line to the throne but the first Protestant in the queue. This always reminds me of queues outside night clubs where the first 57 are denied entry by the bouncers for being inappropriately dressed, in our example probably for wearing crucifixes. “Yes, mate, nice one, come on in.”
The story also says that the horse he was thrown from was Sorrel, which used to belong to Sir John Fenwick but was claimed by William from his estate. Fenwick, a Jacobite, had been executed in 1697.
A neat little twist.
It is far more likely that William’s horse tripped on a ant-hill built by the yellow meadow ant, than on a molehill. Molehills are friable, easily dispersed, and hardly occur at all in Richmond Park, whereas ant-hills have their surfaces matted with vegetation, last for tens of years, and are clayey. The toasts should have been to the yellow workers in exoskeletons.