The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1577 part 1 | Page 8

fixed upon another, and that they were never
to be won by himself. Instinctively he seemed to feel a multitude of
invisible threads twining into a snare around him, and the courageous
heart and the bounding strength became uneasily conscious of the act in
which they were to be held captive till life should be wasted quite
away.
The universal affection for the rebel Prince, and the hopeless
abandonment of the people to that deadliest of sins, the liberty of
conscience, were alike unquestionable. "They mean to remain free,
sire," wrote Escovedo to Philip, "and to live as they please. To that end
they would be willing that the Turk should come to be master of the
country. By the road which they are travelling, however, it will be the
Prince of Orange--which comes to quite the same thing." At the same
time, however, it was hoped that something might be made of this
liberty of conscience. All were not equally sunk in the horrible
superstition, and those who were yet faithful to Church and King might
be set against their besotted brethren. Liberty of conscience might thus
be turned to account. While two great parties were "by the ears, and
pulling out each other's hair, all might perhaps be reduced together."
His Majesty was warned, nevertheless, to expect the worst, and to
believe that the country could only be cared with fire and blood. The
position of the Governor was painful and perplexing. "Don John," said
Escovedo, "is thirty years old. I promise your Majesty nothing, save
that if he finds himself without requisite assistance, he will take himself
off when your Majesty is least thinking of such a thing."
Nothing could be more melancholy than the tone of the Governor's
letters. He believed himself disliked, even in the midst of affectionate
demonstrations. He felt compelled to use moderate counsels, although
he considered moderation of no avail. He was chained to his post, even
though the post could, in his opinion, be more advantageously filled by
another. He would still endeavour to gain the affections of the people,
although he believed them hopelessly alienated. If patience would cure
the malady of the country, he professed himself capable of applying the
remedy, although the medicine had so far done but little good, and
although he had no very strong hopes as to its future effects. "Thus far,
however," said he, "I am but as one crying in the wilderness." He took

occasion to impress upon his Majesty, in very strong language, the
necessity of money. Secret agents, spies, and spies upon spies, were
more necessary than ever, and were very expensive portions of
government machinery. Never was money more wanted. Nothing could
be more important than, to attend faithfully to the financial suggestions
of Escovedo, and Don John, therefore, urged his Majesty, again and
again, not to dishonor their drafts. "Money is the gruel," said he, "with
which we must cure this sick man;" and he therefore prayed all those
who wished well to his efforts, to see that his Majesty did not fail him
in this important matter. Notwithstanding, however, the vigor of his
efforts, and the earnestness of his intentions, he gave but little hope to
his Majesty of any valuable fruit from the pacification just concluded.
He saw the Prince of Orange strengthening himself, "with great fury,"
in Holland and Zealand; he knew that the Prince was backed by the
Queen of England, who, notwithstanding her promises to Philip and
himself, had offered her support to the rebels in case the proposed
terms of peace were rejected in Holland, and he felt that "nearly the
whole people was at the devotion of the Prince."
Don John felt more and more convinced, too, that a conspiracy was on
foot against his liberty. There were so many of the one party, and so
few of the other, that if he were once fairly "trussed," he affirmed that
not a man among the faithful would dare to budge an inch. He therefore
informed his Majesty that he was secretly meditating a retreat to some
place of security; judging very properly that, if he were still his own
master, he should be able to exert more influence over those who were
still well disposed, than if he should suffer himself to be taken captive.
A suppressed conviction that he could effect nothing, except with his
sword, pierced through all his more prudent reflections. He maintained
that, after all, there was no remedy for the body but to cut off the
diseased parts at once, and he therefore begged his Majesty for the
means of performing the operation handsomely. The general
expressions which he had previously used in favor of broths and mild
treatment hardly tallied with the severe amputation thus recommended.
There