Chapter I: The Return of Florent Van Mander

Mr. Bromley was watering his flowers and feeding his pigeons, and singing to himself a snatch of an English song, as he moved to and fro in the pale spring sunshine that filled his little room in the Palace.

Being disturbed by the entry of a servant, he turned his watering-can in his hand and ceased his singing.

“Pardon, Mynheer, it is M. Bentinck’s secretary who hath arrived at the Palace, and, His Highness being abroad, he wishes to see you.”

Matthew Bromley reflected.

“M. Bentinck’s secretary, by name Florent Van Mander, is it not so?”

“Yes, Mynheer.”

“Then bring him here.”

Florent Van Mander, entering immediately, had a pleasant picture of the Englishman standing by the open window with a row of tulips and narcissi showing behind him on the sill, and the grey and white pigeons circling above the gaudy flowers.

Mr. Bromley was cordial.

“We have not forgotten each other, Mynheer!--but it is not so long----”

Van Mander closed the door.

“Three years. It is three years since I was last at the Hague,” he said jealously.

“And three years of big events,” conceded Mr. Bromley. “But where is M. Bentinck?”

“He fell ill at Hertogenbosch;” Florent spoke briefly. “And I left him there, in his cousin’s house--he sent me on to acquaint the Prince of this delay----”

Mr. Bromley emptied his can, threw the last handful of grain to the greedy pigeons and closed the window.

“His Highness will be disappointed,” he remarked. He looked cheerfully at Florent. “Are you glad to have left Berlin?”

“I am glad to return to the Hague.”

Mr. Bromley leant against the window frame and observed him.

He could find no change whatever in him. Florent Van Mander appeared, as formerly, an alert, reserved, grave young man--a dull fellow Mr. Bromley called him inwardly.

“The Prince was expecting M. Bentinck to-night,” he said.

“M. Bentinck is furious at the mischance that keeps him----”

“He was glad to be recalled?”

“Naturally--does it not show the altered position of the Prince that he can recall him?”

Mr. Bromley moved to the oak overmantel and took from it a blue pot of deep red tulips that he placed on the table by the window.

“M. de Witt is still Grand Pensionary,” he remarked, “and this country is still a Republic,--but, as you say, the Prince’s position has altered.”

“Since he obtained the seat in the Council of State?”

“That was two years ago.” Mr. Bromley was removing the dead flowers from among the vivid blooms. “He hath taken a good many steps since then.”

“The whole country shouts for him,” said Florent. “It seemed to me that in every village I passed through they execrated the name of M. de Witt. But will you obtain me an audience of His Highness? I bear him a letter from M. Bentinck.”

The Englishman raised his fair face from the flowers.

“The Prince will be back at any moment, I think,” and he glanced at the clock. “He hath gone to the ‘Huis ten bosch.’”

“M. Van Ghent is no longer governor here?” asked Florent suddenly.

Mr. Bromley smiled.

“The Prince so wearied him with marks of his dislike he petitioned to be released from his post; so, consulting their own dignity, Their High Mightinesses declared His Highness free from tutelage. I’m glad of it----”

“M. de Witt opposed it--of course.”

“Of course,” repeated Mr. Bromley, carrying the tulips back to the mantelshelf. “He opposed his election to the Council--he opposed his journey to England----”

“On what grounds?”

Mr. Bromley shrugged his shoulders in a good-humoured manner.

“Doubtless he feared King Charles would win the Prince over to his designs,--and certainly if flattery and gaiety, and the temptations of a gorgeous Court----”

“Did you accompany him?” interrupted Florent enviously.

“Yes. We were fêted for three months, but the King and the courtiers did not take to the Prince, he was too austere--he was the idol of the people though,” added Mr. Bromley, who had a light, indifferent, and vague way of referring to political matters. But he saw that Van Mander was interested deeply in what had occurred during his three years’ absence from the Hague--so it was right he should be--and so Bromley strove, honestly, and with some difficulty to himself, to satisfy his curiosity.

“M. de Witt thought the Prince would be dazzled,” he explained, thrusting his hands into his pockets,--“so there was bad feeling over that; and then there was the seat in the Council of State, and His Highness’ salary--and the affairs abroad----”

“Do you think there will be war?” again Florent broke in.

“The French are in Lorraine already,--M. de Witt hath passed the war budget and is striving for an increase of the Army,--yes, every one says that there will be war.”

Florent coloured.

“France provokes it wantonly, on the thinnest pretexts,” he said hotly.

“Umph!” Mr. Bromley slightly grimaced. “England is in it too; you heard, of course, of the treaty of Dover?--the counter stroke to the Triple Alliance----”

“Sir William Temple, I hear, hath been recalled----”

“And de Pomponne--Downing is the English Ambassador now.”

Florent rose.

“What does the Prince think of all this?”

“The Prince is striving for the Captain Generalship.”

“Will he get it?”

“I cannot tell. M. de Witt opposes it with all his power--he sees in it the first step towards the restoration of the Stadtholdership; yet nothing less will content the Army and the people.”

Florent was silent. He did not like Mr. Bromley, shallow he thought him--he was, too, a foreigner.

His own eager reflections lay too deep for any expression. He saw the terrible shadow of France falling over his country, distracted by the agony of internal conflict.…

Nothing could save them … they would be subjects of Louis. John de Witt had no more power to prevent it.… Well, the Prince would get what price he could from France once he was Captain General, and he, Florent Van Mander, must follow the example. He had served the Prince in the person of M. Bentinck, faithfully, for three years--it would be remembered to his credit.

Out of the certain ruin facing his country those who followed the Prince alone could make easy terms with France.…

He was startled from his sombre reverie by a message from His Highness.

The Prince had returned, and would see the messenger from M. Bentinck immediately.

Mr. Bromley, still busy with his flowers, nodded carelessly and pleasantly, and Florent was led to the apartment where the Prince awaited him.

It was with an unreasonable sense of agitation that he came into William’s presence, with an unnamable feeling of excitement that he looked across the chamber.

It was in this same room he had taken leave of the Prince three years ago. It seemed in every detail unchanged.

Florent recalled the precise and sombre furniture, the dark walls, the portrait of Mary Stewart, Princess of Orange, above the mantelshelf, the table between the windows covered with books and papers, the shining brass fireirons and the blue-tiled hearth.

To-day the room was filled with the hazy February sunshine, and on the black lacquer cabinet inside the door stood, unexpectedly, a bowl of white and yellow narcissi.

The Prince was standing in the far window embrasure, with his back towards the door.

He wore a velvet suit of a colour he affected, a clear violet. He held his riding-whip behind his back, and the sunlight picked out bright threads in the long hair that fell between his shoulders.

Florent closed the door.

Slowly the Prince turned and shot him a keen glance.

“Ah, the messenger from M. Bentinck.”

He held out his hand for the letter, and by his manner it seemed that he had forgotten he had ever seen Van Mander before.

“M. Bentinck is ill at Hertogenbosch, Highness, otherwise he would be here in person.”

William took the letter and broke it open. M. Bentinck’s secretary stood with his hat in his hand, eagerly observing the master whom he admired blindly and did not understand.

His first impression was that William had changed considerably. He was of the same stature, having come early to his full height, but of a more robust appearance, though his face still retained a look of delicacy. His air of assured self-containment, his expression of calm gravity had deepened. He had always been sure of himself, now he wore the air of a man sure no less of others, sure of his own influence to sway whom he would to his will.

He had lost some of his repression, it seemed; was no longer equally on his guard as to what he said or how he looked.

As he stood quietly reading his letter he conveyed a personality startlingly masterful and daring. Florent felt as if some one touched him, gripped him, so strong was the influence of the slim and silent figure.

William at length looked up.

His face had slightly altered. He was not so pale, the curved lips were set firmly in an expression of half scorn that seemed habitual, his brilliant eyes were controlled to an unfathomable austerity, and the peculiar cleft in his chin was more noticeable.

He wore slight moustaches in the French style that added to his age, and was dressed for riding even more simply than Florent.

“M. Bentinck is not seriously ill?” he asked.

“No, Highness, a chill--a slight fever----”

“When will he be able to come to the Hague?”

“In a day or so, I think, Highness.”

William looked again at the letter.

Florent did not know how to face the disappointment of the Prince’s total forgetfulness of himself; his three years’ exile were ill repaid by this.…

Again the Prince raised his eyes.

“Are you pleased to return to the Hague, Mynheer Van Mander?”

A hot flush swept across Florent’s face.

“I thought Your Highness did not recall me.”

“I recall you very well, Mynheer--M. Bentinck speaks highly of you; if you choose to remain in my service, it is open to you--here.”

Florent found himself foolishly unable to frame an answer. He had felt himself slighted, and now he was over-rewarded; shame silenced him.

“I imagine you will care to stay,” said William, eyeing him.

“It has been my ambition, Highness.”

The Prince put the letter away in his pocket.

“You will see M. Renswoude, who is now head of my household; I need another secretary. I will speak with you again. Meanwhile, Mynheer, I thank you for your fidelity to M. Bentinck.”

Florent, quivering with pleasure, bowed low.

The Prince turned to the table between the windows.

“First I will request you to return to Hertogenbosch, Mynheer, with a letter for M. Bentinck.”

He sat down, wrote hastily, in a large, flowing hand, a few lines, and sealed them in a cover with the signet on his thumb.

As he rose again the door was opened.

“Highness, the Grand Pensionary is below and requests an immediate interview.”

It seemed to Florent’s acute observation that a malicious and triumphant expression flashed for an instant in William’s eyes, but he answered quietly--

“I will see him here.”

As the servant withdrew, William seated himself before his papers again, handing Florent the packet for M. Bentinck.

“Return as soon as you may and--an easy journey,” he said.

Florent bowed himself out as he would have done from a king’s presence, flushed, with a high beating heart, and well repaid for those tedious three years in Berlin.

William watched the door close, then leant back in his chair.

Papers, drawings, plans and maps were scattered before him. Some of the drawers of the cabinet were pulled open, and the long, fuchsia-shaped, brass handles glittered, where the sun caught them, in stars of gold.

Several books, on mathematics and geometry, were piled together, and upon them was placed a vase in the shape of a Chinese monster holding a single crimson tulip.

The sun, slanting in through the long window, caught this flower and picked it out, like a bell of blood against the dusky background, then fell full on the thoughtful figure of the Prince, outlining it in a misty radiance.

The rest of the room was golden dark, for the heavy curtains were half across the windows, and the light filtered through them in a subdued hue, so that M. de Witt, entering the chamber, had his attention fixed at once by the Prince and the tulip, the objects upon which all the sunshine fell.

With every day now de Witt and this young man he gazed on drifted farther apart. They had not met privately for months.

William turned slowly in his chair and rose.

“I am grateful for this, Mynheer,” he said, and it was the manner of a king with a subject, “for I wished to speak to you.”

The Grand Pensionary advanced into the room. He was splendidly dressed, for he had been attending the second reception of Sir George Downing by the States General, and, though still in mourning for his wife, his black was put aside on this occasion. He wore a crimson mantle embroidered in gold, and a coat laced and beribboned.

“There is much to say, on both sides, Highness,” he answered gravely.

The Prince remained erect, with his hand on the back of his chair.

“Will you be seated, M. de Witt?”

The Grand Pensionary came slowly down the room, holding his velvet mantle across his breast. His demeanour was stately to haughtiness, his lips unsmiling and his eyes severe.

“It is a long time since you and I have spoken together,” he said.

“You have been much occupied, Mynheer,” replied the Prince.

He continued to stand. Mynheer de Witt seated himself in a deep, Spanish leather chair facing the window, but enveloped in the hazy, golden, dusky shadows.

“It is not preoccupation hath kept me away,” said the Grand Pensionary, “but distaste to broach with you matters on which we cannot agree. Since we cannot meet as friends, Highness, it is painful to me that we must meet at all.”

“Why not as friends, Mynheer?” asked William quietly.

John de Witt looked at him steadily and mournfully.

“Because there is no friendship in your heart for me, Prince.”

“I can assure you that you mistake me--I am capable of separating the man and his office, Mynheer.”

“I am one with my office,” answered the Grand Pensionary proudly. “What I say publicly I do not abate one jot in private. Whilst this Republic chooses me as its representative I shall serve openly, and with all my power, the liberty and independence of the United Provinces--both against foreign tyranny and native ambition.”

“Is this a threat?” asked William.

“I do not use those weapons, Prince.… I have come here because I have had rumour of many things thrust upon me.… I wish to hear from your own lips what you intend to do.”

“What have you heard of me from others?” questioned William. He looked down at the floor.

John de Witt raised his head a little.

“M. Fagel, M. Beverningh, M. Asperon are your friends or followers, their party is powerful in the Assembly; at this time, when we should be most united, they harass and thwart the Government at every turn----”

William glanced up, the sunlight full across his face.

“You can easily silence this faction in the State, Mynheer.”

“Only by concession, Highness.”

The Prince’s fair hand moved slightly on the carved back of his chair.

“You have come to accuse me of causing sedition in the Assembly,” he said calmly. “You always regarded me as troublesome,” he smiled faintly. “However … what I have to say to you touches this same subject, Mynheer.”

“The welfare of the State, Highness?”

“Yes.”

“What has Your Highness to say to me?”

“You know, Mynheer, what question it is that agitates the Assembly--I put it to you three years ago and you refused----”

“Then I refuse it now,” answered John de Witt.

“The times have changed,” remarked William laconically.

“But I have not,” replied the Grand Pensionary gravely.

“Still, I will again ask you, Mynheer, to consent to my appointment to the Captain Generalship.”

The Prince picked up his whip from among the papers and looked at it as he spoke.

The angry colour rushed into John de Witt’s worn face.

“My answer is no,” he replied sternly; “and I am surprised at these presumptuous pretensions.”

The whip shook a little in William’s hands.

“Why?” he asked, speaking slowly by reason of the control he was exercising. He kept his eyes still on the whip.

“Because it hath been decreed by law--a law that I have sworn to--that all discussion even of your election to this office be deferred till you are twenty-two.”

“Are you going to stand to that, Mynheer? I am twenty-one.”

“I hold,” answered John de Witt, “to the letter of the law.”

William raised his wonderful eyes.

“And yet you speak of friendship.… You have always opposed me … always,” he pressed his handkerchief to his lips and coughed. “You opposed my election to the Council of State.”

“I should again oppose the election of a Prince of eighteen to the Assembly of the Republic.”

“You opposed my journey to England,” continued the Prince, “because you thought my uncle would seduce me into furthering his designs.” He drew a quick breath and looked away from M. de Witt,--“Is it because you still have such suspicions of me that you withhold the Captain Generalship?”

There was an instant’s pause before the Grand Pensionary answered--

“No--no!” Some agitation showed in his voice. “I would not dishonour myself with such unworthy thoughts, but there is too much at stake.”

“There is everything at stake,” said the Prince. “The very existence of the United Provinces is at stake.”

“You are too young to have this tremendous responsibility--too inexperienced----”

“The Stadtholder Maurice was only eighteen when he took command of the Army,” flashed the Prince.

“You quote an unhappy example, Highness. Prince Maurice took advantage of his position to become the tyrant of the people.”

William looked at him under lowered lids.

“You speak as the admirer of John Van Olden Barnenveldt,” he said slowly.

It was a bold and dangerous allusion, since the Grand Pensionary Barnenveldt had perished on the scaffold for _his_ opposition to the power of the Stadtholder Maurice.

“I do.” John de Witt’s voice was cold.

“And as an enemy of my House.”

“As an enemy of sovereign power in your House, Prince.”

William laid down the whip.

“You, Mynheer, will urge the Assembly to refuse me the Captain Generalship?”

“With all my power.”

The Prince bit his lip, and his lids drooped farther over his brilliant eyes.

“To whom does the Assembly intend to entrust the Army?”

“Your Highness knows--Major General Wurtz, the Prince of Tarentum, the Viscount de Montbas.”

“Those are your men?”

“They are the tried and experienced soldiers to whom I am prepared to entrust our defences--if God refuse us the peace which I still hope for.”

William half turned towards him.

“Peace! You still hope for peace--after the treaty of Dover, after the invasion of Lorraine, of Munster and Cologne; after Downing’s audience of the States, his insolent demands, his frivolous complaints. Peace! You should open the campaign to-morrow, Mynheer.”

John de Witt replied firmly--

“Still do I hope to avert the war----”

“You have been hoping that these last two years, Mynheer.”

“Almighty God helping me I shall succeed in it yet.”

The Prince’s eyes flashed impatiently.

“I would sooner pray Almighty God to help me drive out the French.”

“That is the talk of selfish ambition,” answered the Grand Pensionary. “If once we embark on a war with France and England only a miracle can save us--” he gave a half sigh, and repeated--“can save us.”

“To that end--the end of peace--you make concessions.”

“I have been forced to. I have conceded the supremacy of the seas to England, Downing had his answer to-day----”

William coloured swiftly.

“That acknowledges this country subject to the King of England,” he remarked quickly.

“It gives us, Prince, some chance.”

“Our deliverance lies in the sword,” said William shortly.

“Untried enthusiasm speaks there,” answered John de Witt not unkindly. “We are a people whose prosperity depends on peace. Our commerce is our glory and our wealth. We have shed enough blood in the past to defend it.… Now we are prosperous, rich, free, and powerful … to twenty-five years of peace we owe this.… A war would be disastrous … disastrous.”

“It is, I think, inevitable,” struck in the other.

John de Witt half smiled sadly.

“Does Your Highness question my statesmanship?”

William was silent a moment, evidently considering how he should shape his reply.

The sun had moved, so that it fell across the centre of the floor in a heavy beam of gold, leaving the Prince in shadow.

“I think that, the war budget having been passed a year ago, the country should be in a better condition to resist invasion,” he said at length. “The people are taxed almost beyond endurance; two forced loans have been raised, and both the land and sea forces are wretchedly inadequate. I do not know who is responsible for these things, Mynheer.”

He coughed, and looked sideways at the red tulip.

“You take something on yourself, Highness,” returned John de Witt, “to say this to my face; it is an indictment.”

“I am not in a position to criticise you, Mynheer,” answered the Prince, and the scornful curve to his mouth was now noticeable beyond mistake. “Since I have no share in the government, these things are no affair of mine--but M. Fagel brought me your book----”

M. de Witt was betrayed into hot speech--

“Gaspard Fagel fawns on you.…”

“I think he wishes to serve me,” returned William quietly. “You taught me finance--and some other things--and I have applied your lessons to your practice--for my own instruction, Mynheer.”

John de Witt looked at him curiously.

“I do not quite understand Your Highness.”

“No? There is little need--as you say. What have I to do with the government of the United Provinces?--I asked your influence in the matter of the Captain Generalship----”

The Grand Pensionary interrupted haughtily--

“Prince, I can no longer discuss that subject; under no conditions will I be party to giving you this position. You must serve before you can command; know something of war before you can be put over men like Wurtz and Prince John Maurice, Montbas and the Prince of Tarentum.”

William answered, keeping his glance upon the papers scattered over his desk--

“I know enough to tell you, Mynheer, that if you do not strengthen the frontier the French will cross the Rhine--and once the Rhine is crossed, Utrecht falls … and half the Republic is lost.”

“You speak as if judging me remiss in my duty to the State.”

“I speak from my conviction, Mynheer.”

“It hath not been wholly in my hands,” answered John de Witt, with a stately control. “What hath been done hath been done by much reflection and varied advice. How would Your Highness have it different?”

“It were very idle to talk of what I cannot perform,” said William. “Put me in command of the Army and I will show you what I will do.”

The Grand Pensionary rose with a glimmer of red and gold.

“Never!” he said firmly, “never.…”

The Prince was still standing, his hand resting on the back of his chair and his eyes cast down. His very quiet conveyed a passion and a determination that John de Witt felt meeting his own firm resolve, iron striking iron, the unyielding strength of two opposed natures brought into contest.

“Mynheer,” said William, “there are those desirous of obtaining me this appointment--I have, as you say, some friends in the Assembly----”

Between them fell the gold bar of sunshine, dancing with a million motes. Each saw the other beyond it, in a haze of dusky shadow.

“You intend to push the matter to extremes?” asked John de Witt.

Their eyes met.

“Have you come to request me not to?” returned William, with meaning.

John de Witt coloured at the tone.

“No, Highness,” he answered proudly. “I will request of you nothing.”

“Their High Mightinesses will decide between us,” said William, with a stress of mockery on the title. “I am sorry that you will not help me----”

“And I, Prince, am sorry that you should have asked it of me,” replied the Grand Pensionary with a mournful dignity; “it makes weightier my almost intolerable burdens, my almost crushing duties more difficult, that you, and at this crisis, should distract the State with your pretensions and adopt this position towards me.”

William again lowered his eyes; he seemed to be considering. After a second he smiled.

“I also grieve that you should refuse me, Mynheer.”

His eyes flashed an upward glance.

“Perhaps it is not wise!”

“It is right,” answered M. de Witt. “Your friendship would mean much to me--but I cannot purchase it at any such price----”

“We are both too obstinate,” said William, almost insolently; “there is no need for more talk on the matter.”

M. de Witt gathered up his mantle.

“Good even to Your Highness.”

“Good even, Mynheer.”

The Grand Pensionary regarded him with a touch of wistfulness and hesitated a moment; but William stood motionless, obviously waiting for him to leave, and John de Witt turned away.

Again it was the manner of a sovereign with the subject; the Prince seated himself before the Grand Pensionary had closed the door.

The smile still lingered on his lips, he took a letter from the pocket of his coat and slowly unfolded it.

It was from Fagel.

William re-read the last sentences--

“Your Highness’ affair goes well in the Assembly. M. de Witt hath but little influence now. In a few days you will be Captain General, since both General Wurtz and Prince Charles have promised to refuse should the office be offered to them, and since the clamour of the people is no longer to be withstood.…”