The Rise of the Dutch Republic, 1577 part 1 | Page 9

was, in truth, a constant struggle going on between the fierceness
of his inclinations and the shackles which had been imposed upon him.
He already felt entirely out of place, and although he scorned to fly
from his post so long as it seemed the post of danger, he was most

anxious that the King should grant him his dismissal, so soon as his
presence should no longer be imperiously required. He was sure that
the people would never believe in his Majesty's forgiveness until the
man concerning whom they entertained so much suspicion should be
removed; for they saw in him only the "thunderbolt of his Majesty's
wrath." Orange and England confirmed their suspicions, and sustained
their malice. Should he be compelled, against his will, to remain, he
gave warning that he might do something which would be matter of
astonishment to everybody.
Meantime, the man in whose hands really lay the question of war and
peace, sat at Middelburg, watching the deep current of events as it
slowly flowed towards the precipice. The whole population of Holland
and Zealand hung on his words. In approaching the realms of William
the Silent, Don John felt that he had entered a charmed, circle, where
the talisman of his own illustrious name lost its power, where his valor
was paralyzed, and his sword rusted irrevocably in its sheath. "The
people here," he wrote, "are bewitched by the Prince of Orange. They
love him, they fear him, and wish to have him for their master. They
inform him of everything, and take no resolution without consulting
him."
While William was thus directing and animating the whole nation with
his spirit, his immediate friends became more and more anxious
concerning the perils to which he was exposed. His mother, who had
already seen her youngest-born, Henry, her Adolphus, her chivalrous
Louis, laid in their bloody graves for the cause of conscience, was most
solicitous for the welfare of her "heart's-beloved lord and son," the
Prince of Orange. Nevertheless, the high-spirited old dame was even
more alarmed at the possibility of a peace in which that religious liberty
for which so much dear blood had been, poured forth should be
inadequately secured. "My heart longs for certain tidings from my
lord," she wrote to William, "for methinks the peace now in prospect
will prove but an oppression for soul and conscience. I trust my heart's
dearly-beloved lord and son will be supported by Divine grace to do
nothing against God and his own soul's salvation. 'Tis better to lose the
temporal than the eternal." Thus wrote the mother of William, and we
can feel the sympathetic thrill which such tender and lofty words awoke
in his breast. His son, the ill- starred Philip, now for ten years long a

compulsory sojourner in Spain, was not yet weaned from his affection
for his noble parent, but sent messages of affection to him whenever
occasion offered, while a less commendable proof of his filial affection
he had lately afforded, at the expense of the luckless captain of his
Spanish guard. That officer having dared in his presence to speak
disrespectfully of his father, was suddenly seized about the waist by the
enraged young Count, hurled out of the window, and killed stone-dead
upon the spot. After this exhibition of his natural feelings, the Spanish
government thought it necessary to take more subtle means to tame so
turbulent a spirit. Unfortunately they proved successful.
Count John of Nassau, too, was sorely pressed for money. Six hundred
thousand florins; at least, had been advanced by himself and brothers to
aid the cause of Netherland freedom. Louis and himself had,
unhesitatingly and immediately, turned into that sacred fund the
hundred thousand crowns which the King of France had presented them
for their personal use, for it was not the Prince of Orange alone who
had consecrated his wealth and his life to the cause, but the members of
his family, less immediately interested in the country, had thus
furnished what may well be called an enormous subsidy, and one most
disproportioned to their means. Not only had they given all the cash
which they could command by mortgaging their lands and rents, their
plate and furniture, but, in the words of Count John himself, "they had
taken the chains and jewels from the necks of their wives, their children,
and their mother, and had hawked them about, as if they had
themselves been traders and hucksters." And yet, even now, while
stooping under this prodigious debt, Count John asked not for present
repayment. He only wrote to the Prince to signify his extreme
embarrassment, and to request some obligation or recognition from the
cities of Holland and Zealand, whence hitherto no expression of
gratitude or acknowledgment had proceeded.
The Prince consoled