The Life and Death of John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland, 1610-12 | Page 6

for the time. His chancellor and counsellor in the duchies,
Francis Teynagel, a Geldrian noble, taken prisoner and put to the
torture, revealed the little plot of the Emperor in favour of the Bishop,
and it was believed that the Pope, the King of Spain, and Maximilian of
Bavaria were friendly to the scheme. This was probable, for Leopold at
last made no mystery of his resolve to fight Protestantism to the death,

and to hold the duchies, if he could, for the cause of Rome and Austria.
Both Rudolph and Matthias had committed themselves to the toleration
of the Reformed religion. The famous "Majesty-Letter," freshly granted
by the Emperor (1609), and the Compromise between the Catholic and
Protestant Estates had become the law of the land. Those of the
Bohemian confession, a creed commingled of Hussism, Lutheranism,
and Calvinism, had obtained toleration. In a country where nine-tenths
of the population were Protestants it was permitted to Protestants to
build churches and to worship God in them unmolested. But these
privileges had been extorted by force, and there was a sullen, dogged
determination which might be easily guessed at to revoke them should
it ever become possible. The House of Austria, reigning in Spain, Italy,
and Germany, was bound by the very law of their being to the Roman
religion. Toleration of other worship signified in their eyes both a
defeat and a crime.
Thus the great conflict, to be afterwards known as the Thirty Years'
War, had in reality begun already, and the Netherlands, in spite of the
truce, were half unconsciously taking a leading part in it. The odds at
that moment in Germany seemed desperately against the House of
Austria, so deep and wide was the abyss between throne and subjects
which religious difference had created. But the reserved power in Spain,
Italy, and Southern Germany was sure enough to make itself felt sooner
or later on the Catholic side.
Meantime the Estates of Bohemia knew well enough that the Imperial
house was bent on destroying the elective principle of the Empire, and
on keeping the crown of Bohemia in perpetuity. They had also
discovered that Bishop-Archduke Leopold had been selected by
Rudolph as chief of the reactionary movement against Protestantism.
They could not know at that moment whether his plans were likely to
prove fantastic or dangerous.
So Matthias came to Prague at the invitation of the Estates, entering the
city with all the airs of a conqueror. Rudolph received his brother with
enforced politeness, and invited him to reside in the Hradschin. This
proposal was declined by Matthias, who sent a colonel however, with
six pieces of artillery, to guard and occupy that palace. The Passau
prisoners were pardoned and released, and there was a general
reconciliation. A month later, Matthias went in pomp to the chapel of

the holy Wenceslaus, that beautiful and barbarous piece of mediaeval,
Sclavonic architecture, with its sombre arches, and its walls encrusted
with huge precious stones. The Estates of Bohemia, arrayed in splendid
Zchech costume, and kneeling on the pavement, were asked whether
they accepted Matthias, King of Hungary, as their lawful king. Thrice
they answered Aye. Cardinal Dietrichstein then put the historic crown
of St. Wenceslaus on the King's head, and Matthias swore to maintain
the laws and privileges of Bohemia, including the recent charters
granting liberty of religion to Protestants. Thus there was temporary, if
hollow, truce between the religious parties, and a sham reconciliation
between the Emperor and his brethren. The forlorn Rudolph moped
away the few months of life left to him in the Hradschin, and died 1612
soon after the new year. The House of Austria had not been divided,
Matthias succeeded his brother, Leopold's visions melted into air, and it
was for the future to reveal whether the Majesty-Letter and the
Compromise had been written on very durable material.
And while such was the condition of affairs in Germany immediately
following the Cleve and Julich campaign, the relations of the Republic
both to England and France were become rapidly more dangerous than
they ever had been. It was a severe task for Barneveld, and enough to
overtax the energies of any statesman, to maintain his hold on two such
slippery governments as both had become since the death of their great
monarchs. It had been an easier task for William the Silent to steer his
course, notwithstanding all the perversities, short-comings,
brow-beatings, and inconsistencies that he had been obliged to endure
from Elizabeth and Henry. Genius, however capricious and erratic at
times, has at least vision, and it needed no elaborate arguments to prove
to both those sovereigns that the severance of their policy from that of
the Netherlands was impossible without ruin to the Republic and
incalculable danger themselves.
But now France and England