Chapter V: The Declaration of War

“I write this for your private satisfaction, and that you may
be fully informed of how affairs stand with me, and that way be
better able to help us, as I am sure you have the will.

“Since war was declared in London my burdens have become
almost intolerable. I usually work from eight in the morning
till nine at night, often without touching food, and still
cannot get through all there is to do. Their High Mightinesses
have allowed my clerk, M. Van den Bosch, to take my place
in the Assembly and make notes of the speeches, and have
also permitted me to share some of my duties with M. Vivien,
otherwise I could not do it.

“The labour is incredible, and on all sides I am rewarded with
complaints; the forced loans raise a storm of dissent, yet
there is bitter railing that the Army is reduced and the forts
dismantled. I am accused of every corruption conceivable, from
a secret understanding with M. de Louvois to the taking of the
Secret Service money for my own uses.

“I tell you this to show something of the state the country
is in; the voices of prudence, justice, and common sense can
scarce be heard among the clamour of the factions. My desire
for peace is regarded with suspicion, and my opposition to the
violation of the Act of Harmony as a crime.

“The Prince of Orange had to take the oaths never to attempt,
or even accept, the Stadtholdership, on his appointment to the
Captain Generalship.

“But what are oaths in these times?

“Few have lately shown themselves jealous of their word. The
magistrates, frightened by the people, lean to the side of the
Prince, and I fear we have knocked away the keystone of our
liberty.

“This young man wishes to be absolute; he shows his imperious
temper more clearly every day. He has already given marks of
his dislike to Colonel Bampfield and other officers in my
confidence.

“M. Fagel is utterly on his side, and M. Heinsius; only M. de
Groot (at present dismissed by his French Majesty from Paris),
M. Beuningen, and M. Vivien remain staunch.

“My brother Cornelius departed for the Fleet the 9th of this
month. He is so crippled with rheumatism that he hath to direct
his ship from an arm-chair on the deck; the Lord God guard him.

“You see I give you family news, knowing that your love for me
will tolerate it. At present I have in my house my sister, her
husband, my father, and my children, who are just returned from
a visit to their uncle, Bicker Van Swieten.

“They desire their kind remembrances to you.

“The last news is that the King of France has joined his troops
at Charleroi and so opened the campaign.

“The Prince of Orange starts to-morrow for his camp; his
headquarters are to be at Bodegraven. My heart misgives me that
such an untried boy should be put in complete command of our
sole defences.

“But it is astonishing what enthusiasm there is for him in the
Army. General Wurtz and Prince John Maurice both declare he
is worth 100,000 men, and M. de Ruyter says his sailors work
better now His Highness is at the head of things.

“His popularity is at fever height. He further pleases the
people by declaring for war, and wishing to break off the
negotiations I have with so much labour been keeping open. It
seems as if I could do nothing right and he nothing wrong.

“God help us in our extremity.

“I cannot tell you how I miss the pleasure of your company. I
know that this lamentable war is the defeat of your policy as
it is of mine, and that you wish us nothing but good; it is
another motive for me to desire to be free of these unhappy
times, that we might meet and converse again. Keep me in your
heart always, I pray you, and write to me privately when you
have the leisure.

“MM. Condé, Turenne, Vauban, and Luxemberg are with His Majesty
at Charleroi, and one of the finest armies, I hear, that ever
left France. I still keep up a correspondence with M. de
Louvois, but I have little hope of obtaining reason and justice
from a rapacious minister and a vainglorious king.

“But He who hath put these afflictions on me will teach me how
to bear them, and I must not repine against what He chooses to
lay on me.

“Give my loving duty to your lady, and take as much yourself
from one who will always be your friend,

“JOHN DE WITT.

“Given at my house in the Kneuterdyk Avenue, May 17, 1672. The
Hague.”

The Grand Pensionary shook the sand over his letter, folded and sealed it, then wrote on the cover in his refined, clear hand: “To the Honourable Sir William Temple, Baronet, at his residence at Sheen, in the County of Surrey, England.”

It was late afternoon. When the Grand Pensionary rose and raised his eyes he saw a glimmer of gold and green through the window beside his desk, the quiver of the trees, the glow of the sunshine in the garden, which was filled with narcissi, daffodils, and tulips arranged in circles, half-moons, and straight bars of colour among the close grass and neat gravel-paths.

Under the limes sat Anna de Witt with her spinning-wheel, which made a swift, gentle sound as her foot touched the treadle. The sunshine rested on her smooth yellow hair and white cap, and on her rich but simple grey satin gown.

On a low stool beside her sat Agneta, also in grey, for the daughters of John de Witt were still in mourning for their mother.

About their feet the pigeons gathered and strutted, pearl coloured and white, and grey the hue of Anna’s flax.

John de Witt stood for a moment at the window looking at the quiet little figures under the trees, then he turned away quickly and was about to touch a bell on his table when Jacob de Witt entered the library.

“Ah, I did not know that you were at home, sir,” said the Grand Pensionary.

“I can do very little till the States sit again,” answered the old man, “very little.”

He seated himself by the blue-tiled hearth and clasped his hand round the black stick he carried.

This last month or so had given him his full age; his head trembled a little and his shoulders were bowed.

“You are so seldom here now, John,” he said wistfully.

“Sir, I am here now but for a while, I must leave instantly.”

“Where are you going?”

John de Witt crossed to his father’s chair.

“The Prince leaves for the Army to-morrow, sir, and I think it desirable that I should see him first.”

Jacob de Witt sighed.

“To the end,” his son added, “that no private bitterness may endanger our safety--His Highness must know that I shall second him with my whole power.”

“He knows that already.”

“I have not seen him,” John de Witt answered slowly, “since he was invested with the Captain Generalship--he is surrounded by those who are no friends to me. There must be some understanding between us,” he repeated anxiously--“some understanding.”

The old man straightened himself in his chair, his dim eyes seemed to gather fire--

“What understanding can there be between you and this young man, John? Son of a bad House, of the cursed Stewarts and the arrogant Nassau, he is a born tyrant, like his father--woe to us if he triumph----”

“Hush, my father!” the Grand Pensionary interrupted, “we cannot judge him by another’s sins.”

“We can judge him by the blood that is in him.”

“He hath been elected to lead our armies, as his fellow-servant of the State I must support him,” said John de Witt firmly. “Personal feelings must not touch politics, sir.”

Jacob de Witt’s thin hands tightened round his stick.

“Do you think that is the way he looks at it, John? If he snatches the power, will he be magnanimous to you--to any of us? He comes of a race that can hate--of a race that cannot forgive.”

The Grand Pensionary looked at his father with wide and tired eyes.

“I pray you speak words of good omen, sir,” he said softly.

The old man went on as if he did not hear--

“You have never felt the weight of a prince’s anger, you have never been cast into prison by the wrath of a tyrant.… What have we done?” his voice rose almost to a wail, “what have we done?… Nursed a viper to destroy us.…”

“Sir!” cried John de Witt, “I have given the Prince no cause to hate me.”

“No cause?”

The old statesman’s stern eyes rested on his son.

“You have kept him for twenty years out of what he considers his own.… Do you think that William of Orange does not hold that cause enough to hate you?”

The Grand Pensionary put his hand to his heart in a half agitated manner.

“That the Prince misliked my office I have been brought to see--that he hates me I cannot believe--” he paused, then added,--“he owes me some gratitude.”

“He will hate you the more for that,” replied Jacob de Witt. “Gratitude!--Prince Maurice was grateful to John Van Olden Barnenveldt, was he not?”

“I think the Prince is noble at heart,” said the Grand Pensionary firmly. “I did not educate him to be like Prince Maurice nor like his father----”

But Jacob de Witt interrupted sternly--

“He should have been treated as the Lord Cromwell treated the faithless Stewart if the United Provinces were to keep their liberty.”

“Certainly, I think you wrong him.”

“It is you, John, who give him virtues never yet found in the hearts of princes,” returned the old republican grimly.

The Grand Pensionary glanced through the window at that peaceful picture of his daughters under the trees.

“What do you seek to persuade me to, sir?” he asked gently.

“I seek to prevent you making further submission to the Prince of Orange.”

“Sir, I have never submitted to him, nor departed from the Perpetual Edict … you know how I fought against his appointment … but once the States have elected him I must help, not hinder, him in his duties.”

Jacob de Witt shook his head.

“Of a brood of tyrants,” he said in a low voice, “tyrants.…”

John de Witt raised his noble, mournful face--

“Until he proves himself otherwise I must treat the Prince as an honourable man--a patriot.”

“May God reward you for it--for William of Orange never will.”

“Nevertheless, sir, it is necessary that I see the Prince.”

“Why?” demanded the old man vigorously. “M. de Montbas made the mistake of waiting on him--and received a haughty rebuff for his pains. The Staff of the Army is arranged--and there you have been too just, M. Beverningh, the head of the Representatives of the States General, is on the Prince’s side----”

He was interrupted by the entry of M. Van Ouvenaller.

“His Highness the Prince of Orange, Mynheer.”

The Grand Pensionary turned and Jacob de Witt rose.

Before either could speak the Prince appeared in the doorway, and M. de Witt’s secretary, after holding it respectfully open for him, bowed and withdrew.

“I am glad to see Your Highness,” said the Grand Pensionary sincerely.

William touched his hat without raising it and looked at Jacob de Witt.

“Good day, Mynheer.”

The salutation might have been for both or neither, so indifferently was it given; when next he spoke it was directly to the older man.

“We have not met for some time, M. de Witt.”

The old republican came a step nearer the Prince.

Loevenstein was in the minds of both, and that struggle of twenty years ago when the family of de Witt had risen to greatness on the fall of the House of Orange.

Their eyes met.

William very slightly smiled. He was dressed more richly than was his former wont; he wore a circular mantle of dull pink velvet turned up over one shoulder showing the red lining, the cloth-of-gold coat beneath was cut away over a black velvet waistcoat, the heavily fringed baldric supporting the gilt-handled sword he now always wore. His dress was an indication of his altered position; to M. Jacob de Witt his whole bearing was an offence.

“I am leaving the Hague to-morrow,” said the Prince, with a courteous but unmistakable malice. “Shall I not have your good wishes first?”

The old man drew himself erect and firmly clasped his stick.

“I pray daily for the success and safety of the Republic,” he answered sternly.

“But not for me, Mynheer?” asked William quietly.

“I pray that Your Highness may be a worthy servant of the country that owes everything to my son.”

With a gesture of unspeakable pride he pointed to John de Witt.

“Ingratitude is the vice of princes,” he said strongly. “May God preserve Your Highness from that fault.”

He moved to the door, turning his back on the Prince with the air of one who has administered a just rebuke.

John de Witt thought that the Prince would answer, and answer in words that neither could forgive.

But William was silent; he merely raised his brows a little and waited for the elder de Witt to leave.

The Grand Pensionary, proud and collected as ever, remained where the Prince’s entrance found him, his back to the window, his eyes on His Highness.

The moment that the door closed William spoke.

“You must forgive me for disturbing you, Mynheer.”

“I intended waiting on Your Highness myself immediately,” replied the Grand Pensionary formally.

“Their High Mightinesses consider that I should leave the Hague to-morrow,” answered William in the same tone, “since the King of France hath joined his camp at Charleroi.”

John de Witt advanced a little across the room.

“Will you be seated, Highness?”

The Prince took the chair Jacob de Witt had quitted.

He still wore his hat; it heavily shaded his face, that was, even for him, pale. He coughed continually as he spoke, and his eyes were unnaturally brilliant and languid lidded.

“We have not seen each other since your appointment,” said John de Witt, “and I am glad to have this opportunity of speaking to Your Highness.”

William laid his fringed gloves, his riding-whip, and a red rose he was carrying down on the table beside him.

He came, characteristically, straight to the point.

“You opposed my election, Mynheer; you have contrived to restrict my authority … the War Council of the States General are to accompany me and be consulted on every step I take.”

“It is true, Highness,” was the grave response.

“Very well, Mynheer, what I have obtained has been in spite of you.… I asked your help and you refused it.… But now?--I am the chief of the Army, you of the State … what now?”

He fixed his dark eyes on M. de Witt’s face.

“Now, Highness, I will support you by every means in my power,” answered John de Witt firmly. “Do you think,” he added, with a mournful smile, “that I am of so paltry or jealous a nature as to indulge my private feelings at the expense of the public welfare and safety?”

“No, I did not think so, M. de Witt,” answered William.

“I have never borne personal ill-will to you, Prince. I of myself would never have given you the appointment you now hold, but since you do hold it, by the wish of the country, I will help you, willingly and very loyally.”

“Thank you, Mynheer,” said William, still formally.

“Put me to the test,” urged the Grand Pensionary. “If there is anything in my power----”

“Yes,” interrupted the Prince, “I have come a second time to ask you to help me.”

He drew a paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table.

“This is the list of the Staff of the Army--there has been a prolonged contest over the choice, Mynheer.”

He smiled, not very pleasantly, and then coughed, pressing his lace handkerchief to his lips.

John de Witt crossed the room to stand beside his chair.

William read from his list--

“The two Major-Generals, Prince John Maurice of Nassau and Paul Wurtz--I have nothing to say against them.”

One was his own relative, the other devoted to his cause. He might well pass these names.

“Commander of the Cavalry, the Rhyngrave, Frederick Magnus, Count Salm, Governor of Maestricht.”

He also was devoted to the Prince. William made no comment.

“The Rhyngrave’s two lieutenant-generals, John of Weldeven and the Count of Nassau Saarbruck.”

Both these men had always been attached to the House of Orange.

William continued--

“Commander of the Infantry, Frederick of Nassau, Lord of Zuylestein; his lieutenant-generals, Count Königsmarck and William of Aylva; master general of ordinance, Count Hornes; quartermaster general, Moyse Pain et Vin; ‘sergeant majors’ of infantry, Colonel Kirkpatrick and Count Styrum.”

Of these two last the first was a Scotch Calvinist bearing a bitter hatred to the English Government, the second a near relation of the Prince through his grandmother.

“Your Highness has nothing to say against these gentlemen?” asked the Grand Pensionary, with a gentle sarcasm.

William raised his eyes from the paper.

“There are the two commissary generals of the cavalry whom I have not yet named, Mynheer.”

John de Witt’s eyes narrowed.

“Your Highness means the Viscount de Montbas and Colonel Bampfield?”

“Yes.”

“What of them, Highness?”

William coughed.

“Those two positions are positions of great trust, Mynheer.”

“I know it, Highness.”

“I should suggest that they be filled differently.”

John de Witt flushed.

“Why?”

“They are neither of them men whom I should choose to have under me.”

“Your Highness must explain yourself.”

“Briefly, I do not trust them.”

“They were both nominated by me, Highness.”

“I know, Mynheer.”

John de Witt drew back a little from the table, and stood looking down at the Prince with an almost incredulous expression.

He would not have believed that William would have the audacity to take exception to the only two officers of republican sympathies on his Staff.

“They are also my friends, Highness,” he continued with some haughtiness.

“I know that, Mynheer,” said the Prince; “but you are not, I think, of such a paltry nature as to indulge private feelings at the expense of the welfare of the State.”

The tone in which William repeated these words he had used brought the colour into M. de Witt’s face.

“Both these soldiers, Highness, are men whom the country should be proud of--they have my entire trust and confidence.”

“I am sorry,” answered the Prince dryly.

“What have you against them, Highness?”

The new Chief of the Army kept down his glance. “Colonel Bampfield is a good soldier--but----”

“He hath the misfortune to be my friend,” broke in John de Witt with some feeling.

“He is a Swede, Mynheer--a mere soldier of fortune. I do not consider him fitted for a post of importance.”

“And M. de Montbas?--you always disliked him!”

“Yes, I never liked him, Mynheer--and I do not trust him.”

“Not trust him?”

“No.”

“This is intolerable!… Your Highness, in what way do you not trust him?”

“He is a Frenchman.”

“But a Protestant--and since many years in our service.”

“Still, Mynheer, a subject of the King of France,” answered William. “I do not trust, I repeat, the Vicomte de Montbas--and since I am not empowered to choose my own officers, I have come to you to procure his dismissal, Mynheer de Witt.”

With that the Captain General looked steadily at the Grand Pensionary, who was both angered and taken aback.

The Prince’s request seemed to him both bold and insolent, though it was proffered with an almost disdainful quiet.

He curbed the anger that rose to his lips, and kept his glance averted from William’s cool and slightly mocking face.

“M. de Montbas is my friend,” he said sternly, “and in the confidence of Their High Mightinesses.… I will listen to nothing against him--no, nothing,” he repeated in some agitation.

Somewhat to his surprise the Prince replied at once--

“Very well--it is not my affair--I have made my request and been refused.” He lifted his brows. “Well, you will take the responsibility--as you do for every other action of the civil Government.”

Now M. de Witt looked at him.

“Yes, I will take the responsibility, Your Highness,” he answered proudly. “M. de Montbas is as trusty, worthy a gentleman as any under Your Highness’ command----”

“I am glad that you will answer for him, Mynheer.”

“We will talk no more of it,” replied the Grand Pensionary; “he stays.”

William picked up the red rose and looked at it languidly.

“My brother,” continued M. de Witt, “will not accompany Your Highness, as he hath answered the appeal of the States General to go as deputy plenipotentiary to the Fleet.”

The Prince still kept his eyes on the flower.

“I am glad, Mynheer,” he answered. “M. Cornelius de Witt and I are not likely to agree.”

The Grand Pensionary gave him a long and searching glance.

“God forgive this stubborn spirit in Your Highness,” he said.

William faintly smiled.

“Mynheer, let each keep to his business.… You need not have grudged me the sole command of the Army nor have appointed these Deputies to accompany me.”

“It is for your own good--the undivided weight of authority was too heavy a burden for Your Highness.”

“These lawyers know nothing of war,” answered William disdainfully.

“Some might say as much of Your Highness--I for one who think you should have served before you ruled.”

“I know that, Mynheer;” the Prince laid down the rose. “You have no trust in me; well, time will disclose whether or no I justify myself in this that I undertake.”

“I shall do all I can to aid Your Highness.” The generous heart of de Witt went out, despite everything, to this young man of no experience and of delicate health suddenly placed in this arduous and difficult post.

He blamed the ambition that had asked and the enthusiasm that had given the supreme command to William of Orange, and he feared the result for the United Provinces; but he saw, as perhaps no one else could see, the thousand difficulties and labours that must beset a general of twenty-one called to repel a foreign invasion with insufficient men and limited authority; the almost impossible task that faced a youth who had never seen a battle and now must come to the touch with an army of prodigious strength, already elated with glory, strong in prestige, and generaled by the most famous soldiers in the world.

On this impulse of reflection de Witt began to speak. He told the Prince what was being now done for the Navy, the Army; the fresh levies he was raising, the soldiers he hoped to add to the standing force.… He said what he could to encourage and hearten.

William listened, turning the rose about on the table beside him; once or twice he coughed and put his hand to his head.

When John de Witt paused he looked up slowly.

“This should have been seen to long ago,” he said in a low voice.

“What do you mean?” asked the Grand Pensionary quickly.

William rose.

“This country is utterly unprepared for war.… The Navy is half disarmed, the Army of a miserable strength … the forts insufficiently garrisoned.… Those who have been governing the country for the last twenty years are those who must answer for it, Mynheer.”

“You are blaming me?”

William caught up his gloves and the great red flower.

“I am the servant of the Republic--the Commander of the Army--nothing more--I cannot say what has been done amiss nor what rightly--doubtless you can answer for your conduct, Mynheer de Witt.”

The Grand Pensionary had no weapon against an indirect attack, veiled in courtesy.

“If Your Highness will let me know your requirements I will see that Their High Mightinesses meet them,” he answered simply.

The Prince flung back the pink velvet cloak and replaced the list of his officers in his pocket.

The fading, reddish sunlight gathered in the gold hilt of his sword, ran down the length of the shining scabbard, and shone in the curls that lay on his shoulders.

“You must believe me always your friend,” he said, lifting his brilliant eyes.

“And you always that I pray for your success--and that I will in every way assist you--Highness,” responded M. de Witt sincerely.

“I shall remember,” answered William, “and hereafter, without doubt, be glad to remind you of it.”

John de Witt, encouraged by the quiet friendliness of the other’s tone, continued with impulsive warmth--

“I shall work in the Cabinet as you in the field. Let no differences estrange us, for have we not the same object in view--the same hope to animate us, the same fear to spur us on? God, who has us both in His hand, keep you, Prince--and help you.”

“Amen,” said William. “And may He guide your councils, M. de Witt.”

The Grand Pensionary held out his fine right hand.

William clasped it; his eyes perhaps were defiant, but that was not perceived by M. de Witt.

“I will write to Your Highness every day however pressing my business----”

“You shall hear from the camp, Mynheer.”

They parted.

John de Witt sat down by his desk, one hand supporting his head the other hanging slackly by his side.

The Prince had not been gone three minutes before Agneta de Witt entered, rather breathlessly.

“Father!--who was that who has just left you?”

De Witt looked up, surprised.

“Dearest, the Prince--what is the matter?”

“Oh--nought--but I passed--him--in the hall, and he gave me a wicked look--as if he hated me--and all of us.…”