"I should most deeply grieve for those two gentlemen," said Barneveld,
"were that the case. They may yet live to do the land great service.
That great rising light, de Groot, is still young, but a very wise and
learned gentleman, devoted to his Fatherland with all zeal, heart, and
soul, and ready to stand up for her privileges, laws, and rights. As for
me, I am an old and worn-out man. I can do no more. I have already done
more than I was really able to do. I have worked so zealously in public
matters that I have neglected my private business. I had expressly
ordered my house at Loosduinen" [a villa by the seaside] "to be got
ready, that I might establish myself there and put my affairs in order.
I have repeatedly asked the States of Holland for my discharge, but could
never obtain it. It seems that the Almighty had otherwise disposed of
me."
He then said he would try once more if he could sleep. The clergyman and
the servant withdrew for an hour, but his attempt was unsuccessful.
After an hour he called for his French Psalm Book and read in it for
some time. Sometime after two o'clock the clergymen came in again and
conversed with him. They asked him if he had slept, if he hoped to meet
Christ, and if there was anything that troubled his conscience.
"I have not slept, but am perfectly tranquil," he replied. "I am ready
to die, but cannot comprehend why I must die. I wish from my heart that,
through my death and my blood, all disunion and discord in this land may
cease."
He bade them carry his last greetings to his fellow prisoners. "Say
farewell for me to my good Grotius," said he, "and tell him that I must
die."
The clergymen then left him, intending to return between five and six
o'clock.
He remained quiet for a little while and then ordered his valet to cut
open the front of his shirt. When this was done, he said, "John, are you
to stay by me to the last?"
"Yes," he replied, "if the judges permit it."
"Remind me to send one of the clergymen to the judges with the request,"
said his master.
The faithful John, than whom no servant or friend could be more devoted,
seized the occasion, with the thrift and stoicism of a true Hollander, to
suggest that his lord might at the same time make some testamentary
disposition in his favour.
"Tell my wife and children," said the Advocate, "that they must console
each other in mutual love and union. Say that through God's grace I am
perfectly at ease, and hope that they will be equally tranquil. Tell my
children that I trust they will be loving and friendly to their mother
during the short time she has yet to live. Say that I wish to recommend
you to them that they may help you to a good situation either with
themselves or with others. Tell them that this was my last request."
He bade him further to communicate to the family the messages sent that
night through Walaeus by the Stadholder.
The valet begged his master to repeat these instructions in presence of
the clergyman, or to request one of them to convey them himself to the
family. He promised to do so.
"As long as I live," said the grateful servant, "I shall remember your
lordship in my prayers."
"No, John," said the Advocate, "that is Popish. When I am dead, it is
all over with prayers. Pray for me while I still live. Now is the time
to pray. When one is dead, one should no longer be prayed for."
La Motte came in. Barneveld repeated his last wishes exactly as he
desired them to be communicated to his wife and children. The preacher
made no response. "Will you take the message?" asked the prisoner. La
Motte nodded, but did not speak, nor did he subsequently fulfil the
request.
Before five o'clock the servant heard the bell ring in the apartment of
the judges directly below the prison chamber, and told his master he had
understood that they were to assemble at five o'clock.
"I may as well get up then," said the Advocate; "they mean to begin
early, I suppose. Give me my doublet and but one pair of stockings."
He was accustomed to wear two or three pair at a time.
He took off his underwaistcoat, saying that the silver bog which was in
one of the pockets was to be taken to his wife, and that the servant
should keep the loose money there for himself. Then he found an
opportunity to whisper to him, "Take good care of the papers which are in
the apartment." He meant the elaborate writings which he had prepared
during his imprisonment and concealed in the tapestry and within the
linings of the chair.
As his valet handed him the combs and brushes, he said with a smile,
"John, this is for the last time."
When he was dressed, he tried, in rehearsal of the approaching scene, to
pull over his eyes the silk skull-cap which he usually wore under his
hat. Finding it too tight he told the valet to put the nightcap in his
pocket and give it him when he should call for it. He then swallowed a
half-glass of wine with a strengthening cordial in it, which he was wont
to take.
The clergymen then re-entered, and asked if he had been able to sleep.
He answered no, but that he had been much consoled by many noble things
which he had been reading in the French Psalm Book. The clergymen said
that they had been thinking much of the beautiful confession of faith
which he had made to them that evening. They rejoiced at it, they said,
on his account, and had never thought it of him. He said that such had
always been his creed.
At his request Walaeus now offered a morning prayer Barneveld fell on his
knees and prayed inwardly without uttering a sound. La Motte asked when
he had concluded, "Did my Lord say Amen?"--"Yes, Lamotius," he replied;
"Amen."--"Has either of the brethren," he added, "prepared a prayer to be
offered outside there?"
La Motte informed him that this duty had been confided to him. Some
passages from Isaiah were now read aloud, and soon afterwards Walaeus
was sent for to speak with the judges. He came back and said to the
prisoner, "Has my Lord any desire to speak with his wife or children, or
any of his friends?" It was then six o'clock, and Barneveld replied:
"No, the time is drawing near. It would excite a new emotion." Walaeus
went back to the judges with this answer, who thereupon made this
official report:
"The husband and father of the petitioners, being asked if he desired
that any of the petitioners should come to him, declared that he did not
approve of it, saying that it would cause too great an emotion for
himself as well as for them. This is to serve as an answer to the
petitioners."
Now the Advocate knew nothing of the petition. Up to the last moment his
family had been sanguine as to his ultimate acquittal and release. They
relied on a promise which they had received or imagined that they had
received from the Stadholder that no harm should come to the prisoner in
consequence of the arrest made of his person in the Prince's apartments
on the 8th of August. They had opened this tragical month of May with
flagstaffs and flower garlands, and were making daily preparations to
receive back the revered statesman in triumph.
The letter written by him from his "chamber of sorrow," late in the
evening of 12th May, had at last dispelled every illusion. It would be
idle to attempt to paint the grief and consternation into which the
household in the Voorhout was plunged, from the venerable dame at its
head, surrounded by her sons and daughters and children's children, down
to the humblest servant in their employment. For all revered and loved
the austere statesman, but simple and benignant father and master.
No heed had been taken of the three elaborate and argumentative petitions
which, prepared by learned counsel in name of the relatives, had been
addressed to the judges. They had not been answered because they were
difficult to answer, and because it was not intended that the accused
should have the benefit of counsel.
An urgent and last appeal was now written late at night, and signed by
each member of the family, to his Excellency the Prince and the judge
commissioners, to this effect:
"The afflicted wife and children of M. van Barneveld humbly show that
having heard the sorrowful tidings of his coming execution, they humbly
beg that it may be granted them to see and speak to him for the last
time."
The two sons delivered this petition at four o'clock in the morning into
the hands of de Voogd, one of the judges. It was duly laid before the
commission, but the prisoner was never informed, when declining a last
interview with his family, how urgently they had themselves solicited the
boon.
Louise de Coligny, on hearing late at night the awful news, had been
struck with grief and horror. She endeavoured, late as it was, to do
something to avert the doom of one she so much revered, the man on whom
her illustrious husband had leaned his life long as on a staff of iron.
She besought an interview of the Stadholder, but it was refused. The
wife of William the Silent had no influence at that dire moment with her
stepson. She was informed at first that Maurice was asleep, and at four
in the morning that all intervention was useless.
The faithful and energetic du Maurier, who had already exhausted himself
in efforts to save the life of the great prisoner, now made a last
appeal. He, too, heard at four o'clock in the morning of the 13th that
sentence of death was to be pronounced. Before five o'clock he made
urgent application to be heard before the Assembly of the States-General
as ambassador of a friendly sovereign who took the deepest interest in
the welfare of the Republic and the fate of its illustrious statesman.
The appeal was refused. As a last resource he drew up an earnest and
eloquent letter to the States-General, urging clemency in the name of his
king. It was of no avail. The letter may still be seen in the Royal
Archives at the Hague, drawn up entirely in du Maurier's clear and
beautiful handwriting. Although possibly a, first draft, written as it
was under such a mortal pressure for time, its pages have not one erasure
or correction.
It was seven o'clock. Barneveld having observed by the preacher (La
Motte's) manner that he was not likely to convey the last messages which
he had mentioned to his wife and children, sent a request to the judges
to be allowed to write one more letter. Captain van der Meulen came back
with the permission, saying he would wait and take it to the judges for
their revision.
The letter has been often published.
"Must they see this too? Why, it is only a line in favour of John," said
the prisoner, sitting quietly down to write this letter:
"Very dear wife and children, it is going to an end with me. I am,
through the grace of God, very tranquil. I hope that you are equally so,
and that you may by mutual love, union, and peace help each other to
overcome all things, which I pray to the Omnipotent as my last request.
John Franken has served me faithfully for many years and throughout all
these my afflictions, and is to remain with me to the end. He deserves
to be recommended to you and to be furthered to good employments with you
or with others. I request you herewith to see to this.
"I have requested his Princely Excellency to hold my sons and children in
his favour, to which he has answered that so long as you conduct
yourselves well this shall be the case. I recommend this to you in the
best form and give you all into God's holy keeping. Kiss each other and
all my grandchildren, for the last time in my name, and fare you well.
Out of the chamber of sorrow, 13th May 1619. Your dear husband and
father,
JOHN OF BARNEVELD.
"P.S. You will make John Franken a present in memory of me."
Certainly it would be difficult to find a more truly calm, courageous,
or religious spirit than that manifested by this aged statesman at an
hour when, if ever, a human soul is tried and is apt to reveal its
innermost depths or shallows. Whatever Gomarus or Bogerman, or the whole
Council of Dordtrecht, may have thought of his theology, it had at least
taught him forgiveness of his enemies, kindness to his friends, and
submission to the will of the Omnipotent. Every moment of his last days
on earth had been watched and jealously scrutinized, and his bitterest
enemies had failed to discover one trace of frailty, one manifestation of
any vacillating, ignoble, or malignant sentiment.
The drums had been sounding through the quiet but anxiously expectant
town since four o'clock that morning, and the tramp of soldiers marching
to the Inner Court had long been audible in the prison chamber.
Walaeus now came back with a message from the judges. "The high
commissioners," he said, "think it is beginning. Will my Lord please to
prepare himself?"
"Very well, very well," said the prisoner. "Shall we go at once?"
But Walaeus suggested a prayer. Upon its conclusion, Barneveld gave his
hand to the provost-marshal and to the two soldiers, bidding them adieu,
and walked downstairs, attended by them, to the chamber of the judges.
As soon as he appeared at the door, he was informed that there had been a
misunderstanding, and he was requested to wait a little. He accordingly
went upstairs again with perfect calmness, sat down in his chamber again,
and read in his French Psalm Book. Half an hour later he was once more
summoned, the provost-marshal and Captain van der Meulen reappearing to
escort him. "Mr. Provost," said the prisoner, as they went down the
narrow staircase, "I have always been a good friend to you."--"It is
true," replied that officer, "and most deeply do I grieve to see you in
this affliction."
He was about to enter the judges' chamber as usual, but was informed
that the sentence would be read in the great hall of judicature. They
descended accordingly to the basement story, and passed down the narrow
flight of steps which then as now connected the more modern structure,
where the Advocate had been imprisoned and tried, with what remained of
the ancient palace of the Counts of Holland. In the centre of the vast
hall--once the banqueting chamber of those petty sovereigns; with its
high vaulted roof of cedar which had so often in ancient days rung with
the sounds of mirth and revelry--was a great table at which the twenty-
four judges and the three prosecuting officers were seated, in their
black caps and gowns of office. The room was lined with soldiers and
crowded with a dark, surging mass of spectators, who had been waiting
there all night.
A chair was placed for the prisoner. He sat down, and the clerk of the
commission, Pots by name, proceeded at once to read the sentence.
A summary of this long, rambling, and tiresome paper has been already
laid before the reader. If ever a man could have found it tedious to
listen to his own death sentence, the great statesman might have been in
that condition as he listened to Secretary Pots.
During the reading of the sentence the Advocate moved uneasily on his
seat, and seemed about to interrupt the clerk at several passages which
seemed to him especially preposterous. But he controlled himself by a
strong effort, and the clerk went steadily on to the conclusion.
Then Barneveld said:
"The judges have put down many things which they have no right to draw
from my confession. Let this protest be added."
"I thought too," he continued, "that My Lords the States-General would
have had enough in my life and blood, and that my wife and children might
keep what belongs to them. Is this my recompense for forty-three years'
service to these Provinces?"
President de Voogd rose:
"Your sentence has been pronounced," he said. "Away! away! "So saying
he pointed to the door into which one of the great windows at the south-
eastern front of the hall had been converted.
Without another word the old man rose from his chair and strode, leaning
on his staff, across the hall, accompanied by his faithful valet and the
provost and escorted by a file of soldiers. The mob of spectators flowed
out after him at every door into the inner courtyard in front of the
ancient palace.