was the first statesman of the age. The quickness of his perception was
only equalled by the caution which enabled him to mature the results of
his observations. His knowledge of human nature was profound. He
governed the passions and sentiments of a great nation as if they had
been but the keys and chords of one vast instrument; and his hand rarely
failed to evoke harmony even out of the wildest storms. The turbulent
city of Ghent, which could obey no other master, which even the haughty
Emperor could only crush without controlling, was ever responsive to the
master-hand of Orange. His presence scared away Imbize and his bat-like
crew, confounded the schemes of John Casimir, frustrated the wiles of
Prince Chimay, and while he lived, Ghent was what it ought always to have
remained, the bulwark, as it had been the cradle, of popular liberty.
After his death it became its tomb.
Ghent, saved thrice by the policy, the eloquence, the self-sacrifices of
Orange, fell within three months of his murder into the hands of Parma.
The loss of this most important city, followed in the next year by the
downfall of Antwerp, sealed the fate of the Southern Netherlands.
Had the Prince lived, how different might have been the country's fate!
If seven provinces could dilate, in so brief a space, into the powerful
commonwealth which the Republic soon became, what might not have been
achieved by the united seventeen; a confederacy which would have united
the adamantine vigor of the Batavian and Frisian races with the subtler,
more delicate, and more graceful national elements in which the genius of
the Frank, the Roman, and the Romanized Celt were so intimately blended.
As long as the Father of the country lived, such a union was possible.
His power of managing men was so unquestionable, that there was always a
hope, even in the darkest hour, for men felt implicit reliance, as well
on his intellectual resources as on his integrity.
This power of dealing with his fellow-men he manifested in the various
ways in which it has been usually exhibited by statesmen. He possessed a
ready eloquence--sometimes impassioned, oftener argumentative, always
rational. His influence over his audience was unexampled in the annals
of that country or age; yet he never condescended to flatter the people.
He never followed the nation, but always led her in the path of duty and
of honor, and was much more prone to rebuke the vices than to pander to
the passions of his hearers. He never failed to administer ample
chastisement to parsimony, to jealousy, to insubordination, to
intolerance, to infidelity, wherever it was due, nor feared to confront
the states or the people in their most angry hours, and to tell them the
truth to their faces. This commanding position he alone could stand
upon, for his countrymen knew the generosity which had sacrificed his
all for them, the self-denial which had eluded rather than sought
political advancement, whether from king or people, and the untiring
devotion which had consecrated a whole life to toil and danger in the
cause of their emancipation. While, therefore, he was ever ready to
rebuke, and always too honest to flatter, he at the same time possessed
the eloquence which could convince or persuade. He knew how to reach
both the mind and the heart of his hearers. His orations, whether
extemporaneous or prepared--his written messages to the states-general,
to the provincial authorities, to the municipal bodies--his private
correspondence with men of all ranks, from emperors and kings down to
secretaries, and even children--all show an easy flow of language, a
fulness of thought, a power of expression rare in that age, a fund of
historical allusion, a considerable power of imagination, a warmth of
sentiment, a breadth of view, a directness of purpose--a range of
qualities, in short, which would in themselves have stamped him as one of
the master-minds of his century, had there been no other monument to his
memory than the remains of his spoken or written eloquence. The bulk of
his performances in this department was prodigious. Not even Philip was
more industrious in the cabinet. Not even Granvelle held a more facile
pen. He wrote and spoke equally well in French German, or Flemish; and
he possessed, besides; Spanish, Italian, Latin. The weight of his
correspondence alone would have almost sufficed for the common industry
of a lifetime, and although many volumes of his speeches and, letters
have been published, there remain in the various archives of the
Netherlands and Germany many documents from his hand which will probably
never see the light. If the capacity for unremitted intellectual labor
in an honorable cause be the measure of human greatness, few minds could
be compared to the "large composition" of this man. The efforts made to
destroy the Netherlands by the most laborious and painstaking of tyrants
were counteracted by the industry of the most indefatigable of patriots.
Thus his eloquence, oral or written, gave him almost boundless power
over his countrymen. He possessed, also, a rare perception of human
character, together with an iron memory which never lost a face, a place,
or an event, once seen or known. He read the minds even the faces of
men, like printed books. No man could overreach him, excepting only
those to whom he gave his heart. He might be mistaken where he had
confided, never where he had been distrustful or indifferent. He was
deceived by Renneberg, by his brother-in-law Van den Berg, by the Duke of
Anjou. Had it been possible for his brother Louis or his brother John to
have proved false, he might have been deceived by them. He was never
outwitted by Philip, or Granvelle, or Don John, or Alexander of Parma.
Anna of Saxony was false to him; and entered into correspondence with the
royal governors and with the King of Spain; Charlotte of Bourbon or
Louisa de Coligny might have done the same had it been possible for their
natures also to descend to such depths of guile.
As for the Aerschots, the Havres, the Chimays, he was never influenced
either by their blandishments or their plots. He was willing to use them
when their interest made them friendly, or to crush them when their
intrigues against his policy rendered them dangerous. The adroitness
with which he converted their schemes in behalf of Matthias, of Don John,
of Anjou, into so many additional weapons for his own cause, can never be
too often studied. It is instructive to observe the wiles of the
Macchiavelian school employed by a master of the craft, to frustrate,
not to advance, a knavish purpose. This character, in a great measure,
marked his whole policy. He was profoundly skilled in the subtleties of
Italian statesmanship, which he had learned as a youth at the Imperial
court, and which he employed in his manhood in the service, not of
tyranny, but of liberty. He fought the Inquisition with its own weapons.
He dealt with Philip on his own ground. He excavated the earth beneath
the King's feet by a more subtle process than that practised by the most
fraudulent monarch that ever governed the Spanish empire, and Philip,
chain-mailed as he was in complicated wiles, was pierced to the quick by
a keener policy than his own.
Ten years long the King placed daily his most secret letters in hands
which regularly transmitted copies of the correspondence to the Prince of
Orange, together with a key to the ciphers and every other illustration
which might be required. Thus the secrets of the King were always as
well known to Orange as to himself; and the Prince being as prompt as
Philip was hesitating, the schemes could often be frustrated before their
execution had been commenced. The crime of the unfortunate clerk, John
de Castillo, was discovered in the autumn of the year 1581, and he was
torn to pieces by four horses. Perhaps his treason to the monarch whose
bread he was eating, while he received a regular salary from the King's
most determined foe, deserved even this horrible punishment, but casuists
must determine how much guilt attaches to the Prince for his share in the
transaction. This history is not the eulogy of Orange, although, in
discussing his character, it is difficult to avoid the monotony of
panegyric. Judged by a severe moral standard, it cannot be called
virtuous or honorable to suborn treachery or any other crime, even to
accomplish a lofty purpose; yet the universal practice of mankind in all
ages has tolerated the artifices of war, and no people has ever engaged
in a holier or more mortal contest than did the Netherlands in their
great struggle with Spain. Orange possessed the rare quality of caution,
a characteristic by which he was distinguished from his youth. At
fifteen he was the confidential counsellor, as at twenty-one he became
the general-in-chief, to the most politic, as well as the most warlike
potentate of his age, and if he at times indulged in wiles which modern
statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns, he ever held in his
hand the clue of an honorable purpose to guide him through the tortuous
labyrinth.
It is difficult to find any other characteristic deserving of grave
censure, but his enemies have adopted a simpler process. They have been
able to find few flaws in his nature, and therefore have denounced it in
gross. It is not that his character was here and there defective, but
that the eternal jewel was false. The patriotism was counterfeit; the
self-abnegation and the generosity were counterfeit. He was governed
only by ambition--by a desire of personal advancement. They never
attempted to deny his talents, his industry, his vast sacrifices of
wealth and station; but they ridiculed the idea that he could have been
inspired by any but unworthy motives. God alone knows the heart of man.
He alone can unweave the tangled skein of human motives, and detect the
hidden springs of human action, but as far as can be judged by a careful
observation of undisputed facts, and by a diligent collation of public
and private documents, it would seem that no man--not even Washington--
has ever been inspired by a purer patriotism. At any rate, the charge of
ambition and self-seeking can only be answered by a reference to the
whole picture which these volumes have attempted to portray. The words,
the deeds of the man are there. As much as possible, his inmost soul is
revealed in his confidential letters, and he who looks in a right spirit
will hardly fail to find what he desires.
Whether originally of a timid temperament or not, he was certainly
possessed of perfect courage at last. In siege and battle--in the deadly
air of pestilential cities--in the long exhaustion of mind and body which
comes from unduly protracted labor and anxiety--amid the countless
conspiracies of assassins--he was daily exposed to death in every shape.
Within two years, five different attempts against his life had been
discovered. Rank and fortune were offered to any malefactor who would
compass the murder. He had already been shot through the head, and
almost mortally wounded. Under such circumstances even a brave man might
have seen a pitfall at every step, a dagger in every hand, and poison in
every cup. On the contrary, he was ever cheerful, and hardly took more
precaution than usual. "God in his mercy," said he, with unaffected
simplicity, "will maintain my innocence and my honor during my life and
in future ages. As to my fortune and my life, I have dedicated both,
long since, to His service. He will do therewith what pleases Him for
His glory and my salvation." Thus his suspicions were not even excited
by the ominous face of Gerard, when he first presented himself at the
dining-room door. The Prince laughed off his wife's prophetic
apprehension at the sight of his murderer, and was as cheerful
as usual to the last.
He possessed, too, that which to the heathen philosopher seemed the
greatest good--the sound mind in the sound body. His physical frame was
after death found so perfect that a long life might have been in store
for him, notwithstanding all which he had endured. The desperate illness
of 1574, the frightful gunshot wound inflicted by Jaureguy in 1582, had
left no traces. The physicians pronounced that his body presented an
aspect of perfect health. His temperament was cheerful. At table,
the pleasures of which, in moderation, were his only relaxation, he was
always animated and merry, and this jocoseness was partly natural, partly
intentional. In the darkest hours of his country's trial, he affected a
serenity which he was far from feeling, so that his apparent gaiety at
momentous epochs was even censured by dullards, who could not comprehend
its philosophy, nor applaud the flippancy of William the Silent.
He went through life bearing the load of a people's sorrows upon his
shoulders with a smiling face. Their name was the last word upon his
lips, save the simple affirmative, with which the soldier who had been
battling for the right all his lifetime, commended his soul in dying
"to his great captain, Christ." The people were grateful and
affectionate, for they trusted the character of their "Father William,"
and not all the clouds which calumny could collect ever dimmed to their
eyes the radiance of that lofty mind to which they were accustomed, in
their darkest calamities, to look for light. As long as he lived, he was
the guiding-star of a whole brave nation, and when he died the little
children cried in the streets.
ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:
Bribed the Deity
Forgiving spirit on the part of the malefactor
Great error of despising their enemy
Mistake to stumble a second time over the same stone
Modern statesmanship, even while it practises, condemns
Preferred an open enemy to a treacherous protector
Reformer who becomes in his turn a bigot is doubly odious
Unremitted intellectual labor in an honorable cause
Usual phraseology of enthusiasts
Writing letters full of injured innocence