The Life and Death of John of Barneveld, Advocate of Holland, 1619-23 | Page 2

crowd, and a heap of
coarse sand had been thrown upon it. A squalid, unclean box of

unplaned boards, originally prepared as a coffin for a Frenchman who
some time before had been condemned to death for murdering the son
of Goswyn Meurskens, a Hague tavern-keeper, but pardoned by the
Stadholder--lay on the scaffold. It was recognized from having been
left for a long time, half forgotten, at the public execution-place of the
Hague.
Upon this coffin now sat two common soldiers of ruffianly aspect
playing at dice, betting whether the Lord or the Devil would get the
soul of Barneveld. Many a foul and ribald jest at the expense of the
prisoner was exchanged between these gamblers, some of their
comrades, and a few townsmen, who were grouped about at that early
hour. The horrible libels, caricatures, and calumnies which had been
circulated, exhibited, and sung in all the streets for so many months had
at last thoroughly poisoned the minds of the vulgar against the fallen
statesman.
The great mass of the spectators had forced their way by daybreak into
the hall itself to hear the sentence, so that the Inner Courtyard had
remained comparatively empty.
At last, at half past nine o'clock, a shout arose, "There he comes! there
he comes!" and the populace flowed out from the hall of judgment into
the courtyard like a tidal wave.
In an instant the Binnenhof was filled with more than three thousand
spectators.
The old statesman, leaning on his staff, walked out upon the scaffold
and calmly surveyed the scene. Lifting his eyes to Heaven, he was
heard to murmur, "O God! what does man come to!" Then he said
bitterly once more: "This, then, is the reward of forty years' service to
the State!"
La Motte, who attended him, said fervently: "It is no longer time to
think of this. Let us prepare your coming before God."
"Is there no cushion or stool to kneel upon?" said Barneveld, looking
around him.
The provost said he would send for one, but the old man knelt at once
on the bare planks. His servant, who waited upon him as calmly and
composedly as if he had been serving him at dinner, held him by the
arm. It was remarked that neither master nor man, true stoics and
Hollanders both, shed a single tear upon the scaffold.

La Motte prayed for a quarter of an hour, the Advocate remaining on
his knees.
He then rose and said to John Franken, "See that he does not come near
me," pointing to the executioner who stood in the background grasping
his long double-handed sword. Barneveld then rapidly unbuttoned his
doublet with his own hands and the valet helped him off with it. "Make
haste! make haste!" said his master.
The statesman then came forward and said in a loud, firm voice to the
people:
"Men, do not believe that I am a traitor to the country. I have ever acted
uprightly and loyally as a good patriot, and as such I shall die."
The crowd was perfectly silent.
He then took his cap from John Franken, drew it over his eyes, and
went forward towards the sand, saying:
"Christ shall be my guide. O Lord, my heavenly Father, receive my
spirit."
As he was about to kneel with his face to the south, the provost said:
"My lord will be pleased to move to the other side, not where the sun is
in his face."
He knelt accordingly with his face towards his own house. The servant
took farewell of him, and Barneveld said to the executioner:
"Be quick about it. Be quick."
The executioner then struck his head off at a single blow.
Many persons from the crowd now sprang, in spite of all opposition,
upon the scaffold and dipped their handkerchiefs in his blood, cut wet
splinters from the boards, or grubbed up the sand that was steeped in it;
driving many bargains afterwards for these relics to be treasured, with
various feelings of sorrow, joy, glutted or expiated vengeance.
It has been recorded, and has been constantly repeated to this day, that
the Stadholder, whose windows exactly faced the scaffold, looked out
upon the execution with a spy-glass; saying as he did so:
"See the old scoundrel, how he trembles! He is afraid of the stroke."
But this is calumny. Colonel Hauterive declared that he was with
Maurice in his cabinet during the whole period of the execution, that by
order of the Prince all the windows and shutters were kept closed, that
no person wearing his livery was allowed to be abroad, that he
anxiously received messages as to the proceedings, and heard of the

final catastrophe with sorrowful emotion.
It must be admitted, however, that the letter which Maurice wrote on