Chapter IX: The Embassy of M. De Groot

“From M. Fagel,” said Florent in a tired voice, showing his passport.

The officer summoned by the sentry nodded.

“You had best see M. Beverningh,” he said. “His Highness has gone to inspect the fortifications of Amersfoort.”

Florent followed him through the encampment silently.

The Prince, who had been forced to abandon the Yssel, had gathered his troops on to the high district of Rutten before Amersfoort and Utrecht, so as to defend the entry to the States of Holland.

Florent looked to right and left of him, and wondered at the quiet and order. The wild and vague reports of the war, its sieges, disasters, retreats, current at the Hague, had not prepared him for this monotonous expanse of tents and wooden shelters, through which little groups of men and horses moved without noise.

It was hazy afternoon; the sunshine was thick and yellow like honey over the canvas, the trampled ground, and the distant belt of dark trees, beyond which, on a slight incline, rose a windmill with sluggish sails and a thatch stained golden.

The warm air seemed to wrap the sound of things close by with a sense of distance: the fierce, sweet song of a lark that hovered a few feet up, the jangle of the harness as the horses tossed their heads, the crackling of twigs as one man lit a fire at his tent door, came faintly through the veil of the languid summer haze.

Florent and his companion traversed the encampment and made their way across a strip of meadow to a red-tiled farm with green cowsheds adjoining, neat white curtains at the windows.

“The Deputies are staying here,” explained the officer.

“My message was to the Prince.”

“Well, you can see M. Beverningh,” answered the other, as if it were much the same thing.

In the beautifully kept garden, filled with stocks, pinks, and gillyflowers, a maid in a blue gown was scouring brass pans; seeing them approach she stood up hastily and wiped her bare arms, wind and sun-coloured to a deep rose.

“Tell M. Beverningh there is a gentleman here from the Hague.”

She gave a great courtesy and hastened into the house, her gold head ornaments tinkling.

Florent Van Mander stole a furtive glance at the officer, who stood contemplating, with unmoved face, a precise bed of striped stocks and southernwood.

Florent wondered what his thoughts were. He longed to ask him concerning the advance of the French, and what his feelings were about the loss of the fortresses on the Rhine and the Yssel, but both his own reserve and the officer’s demeanour came in his way.

So he too gazed at the flowers, and the brass pans shining in the sun, and a fat white cat asleep on the window-sill.

The girl, reappearing, announced in a hushed, respectful voice that M. Beverningh had come down into the parlour and would see them there.

They entered a passage flagged with black and white, and turned into a room at the back of the house.

Florent was aware of a gentleman standing before the fireplace with his head bent on one side.

“Mynheer,” said the officer, “this is Mynheer Van Mander, sent by Mynheer Fagel to His Highness--as His Highness has not yet returned from Amersfoort I brought him to you.”

“Very good,” said Jerome Beverningh. “Will you please sit down, Mynheer?”

The officer saluted and withdrew.

Florent Van Mander took the chair within the door, and turned his gaze critically upon the delegate of the States of Holland.

He saw a slight man with a hooked nose, a thin mouth, and a stooping figure, dressed richly but carelessly in prune-coloured velvet. He held his hands behind him, and regarded his visitor with large, intelligent brown eyes.

“You are from M. Fagel?”

“Yes, Mynheer.”

Florent felt weary and unreasonably depressed. The incongruity with his feelings of the neat farmhouse parlour, furnished with curtains and hangings of blue-and-white checked stuff, its bright pictures and highly polished furniture, its white glazed hearth and tiled floor, gave him unreasonable annoyance.

He had been greatly elated at the Secretary’s choice of him for a messenger; but he wished to see the Prince, not the representative of the States of Holland.

And the news of growing, almost hopeless, disaster that had met him on his way filled him, against himself, with disgust.

“Well,” asked Jerome Beverningh, “what has M. Fagel to say?”

The young man hesitated.

“I know,” continued the other, remarking it, “that you have come to His Highness, but I think that you may safely speak to me.”

“My errand is no secret,” said Florent, but still half reluctantly.

The representative of Holland smiled.

“And I am in the Prince’s confidence.”

He crossed slowly to a beeswaxed table by the window that held his handsome writing-case and silver ink-horn, and seated himself in a rush-bottomed chair.

“It comes to this.” Van Mander spoke with sudden bluntness. “M. de Witt heard of the passage of the Rhine. ‘Half the Republic is lost!’ he cried when they told him Wesel had fallen--this, for all his self-control … and the next day in council he induced Their High Mightinesses to send an embassy to the King of France.”

“Hah!” exclaimed Jerome Beverningh, stroking his chin.

In some subtle way Florent was encouraged to speak openly; the touch of sullenness left his manner.

“M. Fagel was won over--M. de Witt carried everything before him--no one dare resist him in face of the advance of the French. M. Van Ghent, M. de Groot, and M. Van Odyk are being sent to King Louis----”

“And M. Fagel sent you on an attempt to justify himself to the Prince?” remarked Jerome Beverningh shrewdly.

“Yes, Mynheer.”

“Certainly this news will not please His Highness.”

“M. Fagel feared so.”

Jerome Beverningh twisted his thin mouth.

“He risks His Highness’ favour. Was he--frightened?”

“M. de Witt, I think, over-persuaded him.”

“And M. de Witt is the head of the Government,” was the dry answer.

“Though every day more unpopular, Mynheer.”

“But he had the Assembly with him in this?”

“He carried all before him, Mynheer; there was scarcely a protest.”

“When His Highness is out of it M. de Witt is the strongest man in the Hague,” remarked Jerome Beverningh. “He can do what he pleases, methinks, despite his unpopularity. Is _he_ not sending some one to acquaint us with this news?”

“The envoys themselves, Mynheer, are to explain their mission; I believe they will soon be at the camp. It was M. Fagel’s wish that I should anticipate them with His Highness----”

M. Beverningh interrupted pleasantly--

“And soften the news? M. Fagel is wise.”

“He seemed agitated, Mynheer, that he had been forced to support M. de Witt, and anxious not to slip in His Highness’ good graces--I have a letter from him.”

The elder man swung round on his chair, he looked little and stooping but his eyes were calm and clever.

“You have heard news of the war?” he demanded briskly.

“What every one has heard, yes,” answered Florent.

“Mostly disasters?”

“Mostly disasters, Mynheer.”

“And you, like M. de Witt, have been discouraged?”

Florent shrugged his shoulders.

“I do not say so.”

“But you think that peace would be desirable, eh?”

“I think we must have peace or conquest, Mynheer.”

“Well,” said Jerome Beverningh thoughtfully, “M. de Witt is a clever man, but he will never conclude a peace while the Prince has any influence in the United Provinces.”

Florent was interested.

“His Highness is so against it?”

“Were His Highness in power there would be no embassy sent to King Louis.”

M. Beverningh spoke in a pleasant, quiet manner; as if he touched on matters of general interest that did not personally concern either himself or his listener. He made a great semblance of frankness, yet most effectually concealed his own feelings and views.

Florent liked him; he felt emboldened to speak much more freely than was his wont.

“The peace proposals are not popular at the Hague either, Mynheer. The people choose to take it as an attempt to sell them to the French, and M. de Witt is daily attacked in the pamphlets.”

“Ah, we are a nation of pamphleteers and medallists--we have all been assailed in turn. M. de Witt hath more serious things to trouble him than libels.” M. Beverningh changed his tone. “You marvel to hear the representative of the Government speak so openly, Mynheer Van Mander--but I am His Highness’ friend.”

Florent was surprised; he stared at the calm, wrinkled face of Jerome Beverningh, without comment.

“If any one can save the country it will be the Prince,” Beverningh continued.

“He has a hard task,” said Florent.

“For most men an impossible one, but His Highness is not of the common make, he has great gifts--above all the gift of command.”

“Is he popular in the army?” asked Florent.

“He alone keeps the army together; the men are under-paid, under-fed, yet the cavalry do the work of the infantry, the officers will dig trenches and make gun-carriages--and there is no complaint, because of the Prince.”

“The news of the battle of Solebay heartened them?” suggested Florent, mentioning the one success that had attended the Dutch flag since the beginning of this disastrous war.

“A little--but the issue lies on land--His Highness was not enthusiastic.”

“Ah, M. de Witt was with the Fleet!”

“Exactly. It was a victory for the Republic not for the Orange flag, and His Highness does not love M. de Ruyter, both because he is a friend to the MM. de Witt and because he is of common birth.”

“Why--does that trouble him?”

Jerome Beverningh rose.

“Be not deceived by simple manners,” he said. “His Highness is the very proudest man I have ever met, and if he does not flaunt it in the Tamerlane fashion of his Christian Majesty, it strikes root the deeper for that.”

As he spoke he put his papers into his writing-case and locked it.

“We will see if His Highness has not returned from Amersfoort … it were better if you could give him M. Fagel’s letter before M. de Witt’s envoys arrive.”

M. Beverningh picked up his black beaver with the purple feather, and preceded Florent out of the farm into the sweet-smelling garden of stocks and pinks.

As they crossed the quiet camp, respectfully saluted by such soldiers as they passed, M. Beverningh spoke, in his easy, judicial way, of the deficiencies of the army, the lack of gun-carriages, the forced levies of peasants who had nothing but their goodwill to recommend them, and the number of foreigners, Scotch, Irish, and Swedes, in the army, and how these were by no means to be trusted; indeed, it was to the presence of these hired soldiers that the fall of the Rhine fortresses was attributed.

“Netherlanders,” said M. Beverningh, “do not open their gates to the enemy without a blow.”

He added that the Prince, though struggling with ill-health and disappointment, was beyond all praise in the way in which he kept his army disciplined, faithful, and, despite his constant reverses, encouraged. The captains who had surrendered Wesel to the French had joined the camp, and the Prince had instantly dismissed them his service--“for so strangely forgetting their duty.”

“M. de Montbas’ division comes up with us to-day,” concluded M. Beverningh. “We shall see what welcome His Highness gives him; he allowed the French to cross the Rhine--without a blow.”

Florent raised his brows.

“Would His Highness dare--with his restricted authority--to reprimand M. de Montbas?”

“We shall see,” repeated Jerome Beverningh dryly.

As they reached the tents the Deputy of Holland pointed out the one belonging to the Prince, and at the moment a blonde gentleman in grey advanced from it to meet them.

At sight of M. Beverningh’s companion he gave a surprised smile.

“M. Van Mander!”

It was Matthew Bromley.

Florent flushed.

“I am from the Hague----”

M. Beverningh cut him short--

“Has His Highness returned?”

“No--I was coming to find you or one of the other Deputies----”

“Why?”

Matthew Bromley half laughed.

“Why, there are two of His Highness’ mortal enemies waiting for him--M. de Groot and M. Van Ghent--accompanied by M. Van Odyk and a posse of secretaries.”

“Where are they?”

“Count Struym brought them to the Prince’s tent.”

M. Beverningh looked at Florent.

“Why, then, you are too late,” he said, and walked ahead with rapid steps.

The Prince’s tent was large, and divided by a dark curtain. The outer half was furnished with a few chairs, a table, and a chest, beside which lay some armour and a black cloak.

The grass before it was not yet worn away, and one flap being lifted a flood of heavy sunshine poured in through the open square.

Here M. Beverningh found M. Van Ghent, pale, and in mourning, M. de Groot, elegant, calm, but anxious, in converse with M. Ripperda de Buryse, the Deputy for Guelders, and M. Crommon, the representative of Zeeland.

Standing apart was M. Van Odyk, very handsomely attired.

Since M. Van Eyck had been objected to by the State of Groningen, he alone represented the Prince’s party in the embassy.

M. Beverningh greeted them all impartially.

Matthew Bromley and Florent entered behind him, the Englishman dragging news of the Hague from his slow companion.

The steady sound of low, earnest voices filled the tent.

Only William Van Odyk stood silent, staring at the ground.

It was very quiet without; so quiet that the sudden jingle of harness and sound of a horse’s hoofs made them abruptly hold their converse.

The second flap was lifted; M. Beverningh stepped forward.

The Prince entered quickly, followed by William Bentinck.

The bar of sunshine making a dazzle before his eyes, and, the other men being withdrawn into the shadows, he did not instantly perceive any one but Mr. Bromley and the Deputy for Holland.

“M. Beverningh?” he said breathlessly, “M. Beverningh, ah, what is this that they tell me, that M. de Witt----”

He stepped forward and at the same time checked his words, for he saw the little group behind the table.

A complete silence fell, and though it endured but a moment it was long enough to take effect.

William stood suddenly motionless; he cast his large eyes over the men facing him as if he found himself in some trap.

“M. de Groot,” he said at length, “you have a message for me from M. de Witt.”

His manner and his voice were cold, but it was not the coldness of indifference. His entry had brought into the tent a spirit of passion and hostility; it seemed to Florent that two parties had instantly formed--the Prince’s friends and his enemies.

“These are the commissioners from the States General, Your Highness----” began Jerome Beverningh suavely.

William cut him short--

“So Count Struym told me.”

The embassy came forward. To Van Odyk and de Groot his greeting was curt; to M. Van Ghent he said: “I am sorry about your brother, Mynheer, but it was a fortunate way to die.”

M. Van Ghent bowed in silence. The Prince leant against the little table and looked from him to M. de Groot.

He had never made any pretence of concealing his dislike to either of them, and it was plain that he regarded them both as his enemies, and their coming on this errand as an insult.

Peter de Groot, always courtly, began by prefacing his errand with courtesies, but William checked them.

“Will you be good enough to say at once what you have come to say?” he said in a chilling tone. “I have a press of business.”

They were all standing; the representatives of the States General facing the Prince, who had M. Bentinck behind him.

He rested one hand on the table, the other in his sword strap. He wore a black cuirass over a leather coat, and a black silk sash and scarf trimmed with gold; round his neck hung a star on a crimson ribbon; there was a great deal of Malines lace about his wrists, and in his brown beaver a long black feather fastened with a sapphire brooch.

Florent thought he looked very ill, yet, in comparison with the weighty men surrounding him, very young.

M. de Groot accepted his rebuke with courtly good temper. He was a man of wide experience, not easily embarrassed.

“M. de Witt and Their High Mightinesses consider the state of the country justifies extraordinary means of preservation.”

He spoke formally, as much to M. Beverningh as to the Prince; the representative of the States was as important in his eyes as the Captain General, his mission was to both.

“M. de Witt, hearing of the passage of the Rhine by the French troops, and of the fall of the forts on the frontier, has decided to send an embassy to the King of France, to know what terms he will take. Having obtained the consent of Their High Mightinesses, myself, M. Van Ghent, and M. Odyk are appointed to convey to His Majesty the letter of the States General--we are now on our way to the castle of Keppel, where the King of France is to be found with M. de Louvois, and, following our instructions, have stopped here to acquaint you, M. Beverningh, and His Highness.”

During this speech William had not taken his eyes from M. de Groot; when the speaker finished with a little bow, the Prince glanced quickly and keenly round the company.

“Was there no opposition to M. de Witt?” he asked, and Florent knew that he thought of Gaspard Fagel.

“None, Your Highness.”

“The States are easily frightened,” said the Prince scornfully and bitterly.

“Your Highness does not approve?” asked M. de Groot, with his easy air of elegance.

He was a handsome man, very finely dressed, with placid lips and tired eyes. He knew perfectly well that he was hateful in the eyes of William of Orange, but it did not in the least disturb his composure.

The silence of the onlookers grew tense to painfulness, so obvious and without disguise was the cold aversion of the two men facing each other.

“You are a bold man to undertake this commission,” said the Prince, evading a direct answer. “It will require careful treading, M. de Groot.”

“I am aware of the danger that I incur, Highness.”

“Perhaps not quite,” replied William in an intense, quiet tone. “This embassy, Mynheer, is utterly and entirely against my wishes.”

A little stir went through the spectators. Peter de Groot was not taken aback.

“I act on the orders of M. de Witt, Highness.”

“And you may please M. de Witt by your compliance with his wishes, but you will not please me.” William’s dark eyes held his opponent’s with a bold expression of angry disdain.

“Must I remind Your Highness that you have no share in the civil government?”

William drew a deep breath.

“Had I, there would be no talk of peace, Mynheer.”

Peter de Groot eyed him straightly.

“It seems as if you threaten me, Highness.”

“I warn you and your companions not to go on this embassy.”

M. de Groot bowed.

“I thank Your Highness, but I am bound to carry out the instructions given me by Their High Mightinesses.”

“You are very rash,” said William.

Peter de Groot answered proudly--

“Perhaps I am, Highness--I undertake a difficult and thankless task--but there is some hope for the Republic while she can find those who will sacrifice themselves for her.”

“Do you think that you serve your country by this humiliating errand?” demanded the Prince angrily.

“I think,” replied M. de Groot, with calm dignity, “that I undertake a dangerous embassy in difficult times--I think, Highness, that I carry with me the destinies of my country.”

“What terms are you to offer France?” William’s eyes narrowed and his lips compressed.

“I have full powers to conclude a peace----”

“On any terms?”

“On the best terms M. de Louvois will give.”

“My God!” cried William, with irrepressible passion. “And what do you think Louis will ask?”

“We hope that M. de Louvois will be reasonable and His Majesty generous.”

“Generous!” repeated the Prince, very pale. “Have we come to sue the generosity of the French!”

He took a step towards M. de Groot, his hand on his sword-hilt, and those who saw his face perceived that he could hate--that he could prove implacable.

“I have some authority here, at least.… You will leave the camp.”

“Your Highness----” began M. Van Odyk.

William turned on the three of them.

“You can go,” he said, “and sell your country for the highest price you can get … but you will not find it easy to put the purchaser in possession.”

Now Peter de Groot flushed hotly.

“It is better to save a portion than to lose all,” he said, “and I do not think my diplomacy can be less successful than Your Highness’ arms.”

The Prince cast a flashing glance on him, and the colour sprang slightly into his hollow cheeks.

“You are even bolder than I thought, M. de Groot … but, as you say, I have nothing to do with the civil government … there will be a reckoning.… Go to the King of France and take his terms, and see the lands ploughed up and sown with salt, that no one may benefit by them even to the third generation.”

He sat down in the humble chair by the little table and rested his brow in his gloved hand.

To those who watched it was painful, knowing his usual composure, to see how moved he was.

He deigned no further word to the commissioners, who left the tent accompanied by the Deputies of the State.

M. Bentinck questioned Mr. Bromley aside as to Van Mander’s presence.

Florent came forward with some awe on him, he did not dare address the Prince.

“I am come with a letter from M. Fagel,” he ventured to William Bentinck.

The Prince looked up at the name.

“What is that you say?” he asked.

Florent approached, gave some stumbling explanation that William did not seem to hear, and delivered the Secretary’s letter.

The Prince put it down unopened.

“It seems that there is no one at the Hague can resist M. de Witt,” he said; then he roused himself to speak to Matthew Bromley--

“Take M. Fagel’s messenger to your quarters--it may be that I shall want to see him presently.”

When the two had gone William Bentinck came softly forward; the sunlight, that was taking on a richer, deeper hue, fell through the tent opening, and lit up the golden inlay and garnishing of his armour and the bright rings of his fair hair.

The Prince took off his hat and pushed the locks back off his forehead.

“Ah, William,” he said in a tone of anguish, “can it be possible?”

“These republicans are very stubborn----”

William clenched his hand on the table.

“M. de Witt!” he cried passionately. “Will he never cease to thwart me, to humiliate and insult me?… He must go … he must break if he will not bend … by Heaven! he must.… How dare he----”

His words were checked by a cough; he shook as if in bodily pain, and pressed his hand to his shining corselet over his heart.

“What I have endured--what I have taken--never worse than this--to send those two----”

“It was very insolently done,” said M. Bentinck hotly.

“It was done in contempt, to show me the cipher that I am----”

He got to his feet in the restlessness of passion; his face was quite colourless, and in his eyes was an agony of bitter emotion.

“They have gone to cringe to Louis! Think of it, William--to cringe to the French while we have a man left who can grasp a gun.” Again his cough took him, and he had to hold his side. “Van Odyk, too----”

“He goes to represent Your Highness, I do think.”

“He goes because he is afraid of M. de Witt,” flashed the Prince. “If he had loved me he had not gone.”

M. Bentinck looked at his master in affectionate distress, he knew not what to do or say; his own blood beat high at the thought of suing to Louis for peace.

“Oh, heart, heart, what I have taken!” cried William through his teeth. “Ah, to be so powerless, so hedged about, so humbled--hampered always by the inadequacy of others! Had they sent me more men I had not been retreating now--but M. de Witt keeps me starved in my supplies, sets me to build with sand. We do not need these smooth lawyers to feed the arrogance of Louis with their whinings for peace, but more men to send the French back across the Rhine.”

He pulled his gloves off and crushed them in his beautiful right hand.

“If I had had the garrisoning of those Rhine forts,” he said, with a gasping breath, “they had never fallen.… M. de Witt’s paid adventurers came dear, after all his economy.”

The Prince pressed his forehead with a little sound of desperation, then, as was his habit when he had been moved to speak freely, even to M. Bentinck, he fell into a deeper reserve, as if he regretted what he had said.

“Will you take some rest now?” asked M. Bentinck anxiously.

“I will write to M. Fagel--and some other people. I think to fall back on Utrecht to-morrow,” returned the Prince briefly. “Amersfoort is well fortified, and should hold out.”

“Will you see M. Sylvius if he arrives?”

“Yes--and any other messenger from England.”

“There is to be a council meeting to-night----”

“And a review afterwards--we must hearten the men.”

“You do too much, Highness.”

“That is impossible; I should do more--I wish I had your strength,” he added suddenly.

This was a matter he seldom spoke of, and M. Bentinck was abashed.

“A gift I share with every common soldier,” he answered.

“They are to be envied,” said William, rather grimly.

He had regained his composure of manner and his control, but he looked tired and sick to swooning point. M. Bentinck could not bear to hear him cough.

“Will you see if you can get better lamps for to-night,” he said. “The fumes of these choke me.”

He pressed M. Bentinck’s hand affectionately, took up M. Fagel’s letter and, lifting the curtain, entered the inner part of the tent.